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Corporation 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


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Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

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pas  6t6  filmdes. 

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D 


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obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

SOX 

v/ 

12X 


16X 


20X 


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28X 


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laire 
s  details 
ques  du 
It  modifier 
ciger  une 
le  filmage 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Ralph  Pickard  Bell  Library 

Mount  Allison  University 


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filming  contract  specifications. 


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g6n6rosit6  de: 

Ralph  Pickard  Bell  Library 

Mount  Allison  University 


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plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet§  de  l'exemplaire  film^,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


luees 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
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first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  —^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED "),  or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim6e  sont  filmds  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film^s  en  commengsnt  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  —-^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


aire 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  etre 
film6s  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  §tre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


by  errata 
ned  to 

lent 

une  pelure, 

fagon  d 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

.     3 

4 

5 

8 

32X 


5  V 


It 


1 


AN 


Introduction  to  Ethics 


RY 


J.    CLARK    MURRAY,    LL.D.,    I-.R.S.C, 

PuOlESbOU    OF  PlllLOSOl'IlV,    McGU.L    CoLLEUE,    MuNTKEAL 


UNIVERSITY 

MOUNT  ALLISON, 

LliWARY.  } 


BOSTON 
DE    WOLFK,     FISKE    .'v:    CO. 

361     AND     V'5    W  A>'lll.N<ir<jN    ^IKKET 


CorYinGiiT,  1S91, 

BV    Die    WOLI-IL,   FlMUi   \'   Co. 


"6 


-J 


TyPOGRAPIIY    AM)   ElFCTKOTYriNT,    HY 

C.  J.  Pi-TKNs  X;  Son,  Bostom. 


Pkuss  of  \Vku;h-i   .^    I'oriiiK  I'kintim;  Co., 

147082 

Mount  Allison 

Memorial 

Ubrary 


.TON. 


P  R  E  F  A  C  E. 


This  book  is  intended  to  be  what  its  title  describes, 
an  bitroduction  to  Ethics  ;  but  as  the  term  Introchic- 
tion  has,  in  tliis  connection,  received  an  ambiguous 
meaning,  a  word  of  explanation  may  not  be  out  of 
place.  This  term  is  sometimes  employed  to  denote 
a  philosophical  discussion  of  the  ultimate  concepts 
which  lie  at  th"  foundation  of  a  science  ;  in  which 
case,  a  preliminary  study  of  the  science  is  indispens- 
able as  a  preparation  for  an  intelligent  perusal  of 
the  Introduction.  This  is  not  the  sense  in  which  the 
present  work  is  meant  to  be  an  Introduction  to 
Ethics.  It  is  intended  to  introduce  to  the  science 
those  who  are  as  yet  unfamiliar  with  its  fundamental 
concepts,  except  in  so  far  as  these  are  implied  in  all 
our  ordinary  thoughts  about  human  life. 

With  this  object  in  view  I  have  not  confined  my- 
self to  the  exposition  of  moral  concepts  in  their 
abstract  universality.  Following  rather  what  I  be- 
lieve to  be  the  earlier  tradition  in  the  treatment  of 
I^thics,  I  have  endeavored  to  interest  the  student  also 
in  the  concrete  application  of  moral  concepts  to  the 


111 


IV 


PREFACE. 


principal  spheres  of  human  duty.  To  meet  the 
demands  of  modern  thoui^ht  it  seems  necessary  to 
guide  this  inc|uiry  by  the  historical  or  evolutionary 
method,  —  by  tracin*,^  the  conditions  of  time  and 
place,  under  which  the  leading  forms  of  moral  good- 
ness have  been  developed.  The  requirements  of  the 
moral  ideal  ni  any  age  can  be  definitely  compre- 
hended only  when  we  come  to  know  how  it  has  been 
formed,  just  as  the  precise  meaning  of  a  word  is 
often  to  be  reached  only  by  tracing  its  history ;  and 
even  if  the  obligations  of  the  moral  life  demand  an 
elevation  or  modification  of  the  existiiig  ideal,  the 
proposed  moral  advance  can  itself  be  under'^tood 
only  when  it  is  viewed  as  a  continuation  of  the  pro- 
cess through  which  that  ideal  was  attained.  Such 
an  historical  treatment  of  the  moral  code  can  be  but 
imperfect  at  present ;  an  adequate  treatment  will 
require  monographs,  which  have  yet  to  be  written,  on 
the  evolution  of  the  particular  virtues.  Meanwhile, 
the  present  discussion  may  fulfil  the  general  purpose 
of  my  book,  by  introducing  the  student  to  a  more 
elaborate  investigation  of  the  problems  involved. 

J.  Clark  Murray. 


1). 


CONTENTS. 


Dkmmtjo?;  and  Division  of  thk  Scikxcr '|' 

IHWk'I.     77/1':  PSYCHOLOGICAL  BASIS  OLErilLCS  .  9 

I'AKT    I.     iM/N    XATURVL j, 

CiiAi'TKR  I.     Physical  Natitrk  of  Man j^ 

§  I.    Coinmon  I'hysical  Nature  of  all  Men '  ,  , 

§  2.    Distinctive  Physical  Nature  of  Indi.'iduals  .     '.     .     .  A 

§  3-    I^^;^n'^  Kelation  to  his  Physical  Nature    ....."  17 

ClIAITKR    II.       I'sVCinCAL    NaTURK    OF    MaN jg 

PART    II.     MAN    MORAL 

Chaftkr  I.     TiiK  Moral  Conscioitsnkss  as  Cocnihon,  39 

§  r.    The  Consciousness  of  >[nral  Obligation  .     .     .     .     !  ^o 

Suhstrtion  I.     ['".nipirical  Theory . -, 

Subsection  2.     Tranrcendental  Theory r,s 

§  2.   The  Consciousness  of  Goodness     .  ' (,,s 

§  3.   The  Consciousness  of  Desert 35 

Ch.u'tek  II,    The  Moral  Consciousness  AS  Emotion,  idi 

Chapter  III.    The  Moral  Consciousness  as  Volition,  109 

§  I.    Facts  Generally  Admitted  legarding  Volition  .     .     .  109 

S  3.   The  Problchi  of  Volition    ....  ,.- 

V 


A 


VI  content:^. 

1A(.U 

BOOK  ir.   I'lriiics  proper 139 

TART   I.    THE   SUl'RKMK   LAW    Ol-'   DUTY.     ...  141 

CUAITKK    I.       lOl'ICUKKAN    TUF.OUir.S I45 

§  I.    Utilitarianism  ICxpouiulcd 147 

§  2.    Utilitarianism  Reviewed 159 

i.  Is  rieasurc  actually  the  Ultimate  Object  of  all 

Hiiman  Action? 160 

ii.  Dues  the  Empirical  Eact  of  what  is  actually  most 
desired  prove  what  ought  to  be  most  desired 

by  Men  .'' 167 

iii.  Can  the   Utilitarian   Criterion   of   Rightncss   in 

Conduct  be  practically  apjilied  ?      ....  174 
iv.  Would    the    Utilitarian    Criterion    of    J\.i;^htness 
yield  such  a  Code  oi  Morality  as  is  incul- 
cated among  Civilized  Nations .'      ....  1S5 

ClIAI'TKR   II.      SroiCAL   THEORIES 2o6 

§  I.    Ancient  Stoicism 209 

§  2.   English  Stoical  Moralists 219 

§  3.    Perfectionism 225 

§  4.   The  Kantian  Movement 226 

CiiAPTEK   III.    Uncertainty'  ok   Si'kculativic  Moral 

Theories 235 

I'ART    II.      CLASSIFICATION"    OF    MORAL    OliLIGA- 

TIONS 241 

Chapter  I.     Social  Dhties 247 

§  I.    Determinate  Duties,  or  Duties  of  Justice     ....  251 
Subsection  i.     Obligations    of   Justice    arising   from 

Personal  Rights 257 

i.  Obligationr.  of  Justice  to  Society 257 

(//)  The  Family 263 

(/')  The  State 267 

(c)  The  Church 276 

ii.  Obligations  of  Justice  to  Individuals    ....  279 

(</)  Justice  in  Reference  to  Physical  Life      .     .  279 

(/')  Justice  in  Reference  to  Mental  Life  .     .     .  297 
Subsection  2.     Obligations   of   Justice  arising  from 

Real  Rights 307 

{(/)  Occu])ancy 309 


1 41 

'45 
147 
159 

160 


167 
174 

206 
209 
219 
225 
226 

^35 


COMK.NTS.  yy^ 

(/')  Labor """'^l 

I')  Coiittact  ........  '•'•30 

.9///MVV//.W  3.     F..rfcitiiir.,f  Rii-lits      [    ,  '     Vjj 

^2.    I>HK,'tc,min.acI)utics.  u,  I),,iicsof  Jlencvolence.'     .'    326 

CilAI'TKR    II.       I'KKSONAT,    DUTIKS 

§1.    Duties  .,f  |!,„!ily  Culture    .     ."     '     '     *     '     '     "     '     *     '^'^^ 
§  -'.    Duties  (if  Intellectual  Culture     ...".'.''     "^^ 
§  3.   Duties  of  Mural  Culture     ......  '^^^ 

I'AKT    III.     VIKTCK. 

347 

Ch.mtkk  I.     ViKTUK  AS  AN  Inti.:i.i.»:ctuai.  IIaimt  ,ci 

«?  I.    ^'CMcral  Kducatioii  of  Conscieiicu    .... 
S  2.    Special  Kducation  of  Conscience     .'    ."    ."    .'    .'     "     "     ^5^ 

ChAITKK    II.      ViRTL'F.   AS    AN    K MOTI.JNAI.    IIaIIIT  <^ 

§  I.   Negative  Kmotioiial  Culture '^(-^c^ 

(<!)  Control  of  Sensuous  Impulses  ...'."*  J7 

(/')  Control  c/  Unsocial  Impulses   ...  "  .^o 

§  2.    Positive  Emotional  Culture "^  i 

CiiAPTKR  III.     Virtue  as  a  ILvmr  of  Will  .<^] 

§  I.   Negative  Virtue •     •     •     •     j^i 

§  2.   Positive  Virtue      .  ^ 

393 

CONCLUSION     .     . 

39S 


ETHICS. 


DEFINITION    AND    DIVISION    OF    THE    SCIENCE. 

Till',  science  of  ICthics  receives  its  name  from  the 
Greek  (in)  ifiiy.u,  an  adjectival  form  connected  with 
the  substantive  »/A)i.  This  substantive  seems  to 
have  been  originally  a  mere  dialectical  variety  of 
ifiiKy  thouiii^h  the  two  words  came  to  be  afterwards 
distinf,aiished,  at  least  in  exact  usage,  the  latter  being 
applied  to  any  habitual  action,  while  the  former 
denoted  the  manners  or  customs  which  such  action 
goes  to  formJ  If  the  common  etymology  of  these 
words,  which  Connects  them  with  the  root  of  i':oft(ti,'^ 
be  correct,  they  must  have  expressed  literally  that 
which  is  seated  or  settled,  and  hence  have  come  to 
mean  an  established  usage  or  custom,  a  manner  or 
habit  of  life.  As  far  as  etymology  indicates,  there- 
fore,   Ethics    appears    to   be   the    science    of   those 


1  See  Plato's  Dc-  Leg.,  VII.  792  ;  Aristotle's  Efh.  Nic,  II.  i.  i. 

-  This  Greek  verb,  as  tlic  future  ih)T-txiu  and  the  substantive  Uoi  show 
more  distinctly,  contains  the  same  rout  which  we  find  in  the  Latin  scdco,  as 
well  as  in  tlie  English  scat,  set,  sit,  and  the  German  sitzcii.  Consequently 
the  Germ.an  substantive  Sittc  is  not  only  the  equivalent  of  TjOoi  In  meaning, 
but  allied  to  it  in  etymology.  It  may  be  added  tiiat  the  substantive  nont 
(German  Geica/in/ieit)  conveys  etymologically  the  same  idea  as  i/Ooq,  as  it  is 
connected  with  tlie  Old  English  verb  7fo;i  (German  uv/inen),  meaning  (0 
ihvcll. 


AN    TXTKODIT'I-IOX   'lO    KTIIfCS. 


manners  and  customs  which  form  the  laws  of  human 
action  and  give  a  character  to  human  life.^ 

The  same  meaning  is  conveyed  by  another  name 
of  the  science,  which  is  of  Latin  derivation,  —  Morals, 
Moral  Science,  or  Moral  Philosophy.  The  Greek 
>\0()^,  often  used  in  the  plural  I'tdij,  found  its  Latin 
equivalent  in  j/^os,  or,  more  commonly,  in  the  plural 
mores.  The  study  of  the  ethical  writings  of  the 
Greeks  may  be  said  to  have  begun,  among  the 
Romans,  with  Cicero;  and  he  found  himself  incon- 
veniently fettered  in  his  exposition  of  the  subject  by 
the  want  of  an  adjective  connected  with  nios.  lie 
suggested,  therefore,  the  adoption  of  vioralis ;  -  and 
his  coinage,  meeting  an  evident  want,  passed  cur- 
rent among  subsequent  writers,  and  has  taken  a 
place  in  all  the  languages  of  the  modern  world. 

It  would  appear,  then,  that  the  terms  ICthics  and 
Morals  were  originally  intended  to  denote  a  science 
which  treats  of  manners  or  habits  ;  in  a  word,  of 
human  character ;  and  in  the  widest  sense  of  the 
terms  this  description  might  be  accepted  as  substan- 
tially correct.  But  the  precise  field  of  the  science 
must  be  more  exactly  defined. 

A  science  of  human  character  suggests  "wo  differ- 
ent questions.  Man  is  moulded  by  the  influences 
that  are  at  work  in  himself,  as  wx'll  as  in  his  enviion- 
ment.     l^ut  among  these  there  is  one  which  irives  a 

1  In  tliis  general  sense  Mr.  J.  S.  Mill  uses  the  term  Kiliology  {Loi^ic,  VI. 
V.  5);  but,  apart  from  tlie  objection  to  unnecessary  innovatiDns  in  language, 
the  word  is  awkwardly  suggestive  to  a  Cireek  scholar,  as  denoting  originally 
the  art  of  the  mimic  who  represents  llie  manncis  and  customs  of  men.  As  a 
matter  of  tact,  Mill's  coinage  lias  received  scarcely  iuiy  recognition,  except  in 
accounts  of  his  own  views. 

2  Dc  luiio,  1. 


i)i;FiN'rri<)x  anh  division'  oi'  'riii".  scii;\ci';. 


[  human 

icr  name 
-  Morals, 
c  Greek 
ts  Latin 
le  plural 
s  of  the 
lonir  the 
>lf  incon- 
ubject  by 
fios.  Me 
h's ;  '^  and 
^sed    cur- 

taken    a 
)rld. 

thics  and 

a  science 

word,   of 

e    of    the 

substan- 
e  science 

wo  differ- 
nfluences 
i  enviion- 
1   L;-ives  a 

;^y  (/.<-vV,  VI. 
in  lant;uac;e, 
ing  oii.ninnlly 
f  men.  As  a 
:ion,  except  in 


peculiar  aspect  to  the  problems  of  iii  science.  Man 
is  not  merely  subject  to  forces  whicii  actually  shape 
his  character  in  some  w  ,'  or  another,  he  is  also 
endowed  with  the  power  of  co;j;nizinL;-  an  ideal  in 
accordance  with  which  he  is  conscious  th;it  his  char- 
acter ought  to  be  shajKHl.  A  science  of  ICthics, 
therefore,  cannot  be  satisfied  witl'i  merely  describinL:; 
the  actual  formation  of  human  character;  it  must^ 
also  analyze  that  ideal  of  perfection,  in  accoi'dance 
with  which  character  may,  conceivably  at  least,  be 
formed. 

It  may  be  observed  that  a  similar  distinction  can 
be  drawn  in  the  case  of  all,  and  is  actually  drawn  in 
the  case  of  many,  natural  objects.  h^)r  exami)le,  in  the 
veL;'etable  world  objects  are  viewed  by  the  botanist 
sinij^ly  in  reference  to  their  actual  formation,  and  the 
laws  by  which  that  formation  is  _L;-overned  ;  but  the 
aj^riculturist  and  horticulturist  keep  in  view^  a  certain 
ideal  type  which  they  seek  to  develop  in  the  plants 
under  their  care,  in  order  to  render  them  as  i)erfectly 
subservient  as  possible  to  their  various  uses  in  human 
life.  In  like  manner,  while  in  the  science  of  Miner- 
alo2;y  it  is  properly  the  actual  facts  of  the  mineral 
kingdom  that  arc  alone  taken  into  account,  on  the 
other  hand  the  lapidary,  the  metallurgist,  and  even 
the  common  stone-cutter  aim  at  a  certain  form  of 
utility  or  beauty,  in  accordance  with  which  they  seek 
to  fashion  the  minerals  upon  which  they  labor,  In 
regard  to  the  animal  kingdom,  also,  a  like  contrast 
may  be  drawni  between  the  attitude  of  the  zoologist, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  that  of  the  breeder  or  fancier  on 
the  other. 


AX    INTRODUCTION   TO   I/ITIICS. 


m 


It  is  to  be  observed,  however,  that  these  two  views 
in  regard  to  natural  objects  are  views  taken  by  j/iau, 
and  that  they  refer,  not  to  the  action  of  these  objects 
themselves,  but  to  ///>  action  in  the  treatment  of 
them.  They  are,  therefore,  after  all,  in  n^ality,  two 
views  of  his  own  conduct  ;  it  is  he  alone  that  holds 
forth  an  ideal  to  be  reached  for  them  as  well  as  for 
himself. 

The  two  aspects  in  which  the  life  of  man  may  thus 
be  viewed  suggest  the  most  appropriate  division  of 
our  subject.  The  whole  discussion  will  be  separated 
into  two  Books,  one  treating  of  man  as  Jic  is,  the  .)^ 
other  of  man  as  he  ought  to  be.  It  is  only  the  latter 
part  of  the  subject  to  which  the  ti.rm  Ethics  is 
applied  in  it'^  strictest  sense  ;  and  therefore  we  shall 
generally  speak  of  it  as  Ethics  Proper.  But,  before 
we  can  inquire  with  advantage  into  the  ideal  laws 
in  accordance  with  which  man's  character  ought  to 
be  formed,  we  must  make  some  acquaintance  with 
the  forces  that  are  actually  available  for  its  forma- 
tion. Now,  it  is  obvious  that  the  forces  of  external 
nature  can  influence  the  life  of  man,  only  by  stimu- 
lating into  activity  the  forces  that  are  organized  in 
his  own  nature ;  and  therefore  it  is  to  the  forces  of 
his  own  nature  that  our  attention  must  be  directed, 
in  order  to  understand  the  influences  by  which  his 
character  is  formed.  But  the  study  of  these  forces 
forms  a  part  of  the  science  of  Psychology ;  and  con- 
sequently the  first  Book  of  this  work,  which  is  devoted 
to  this  study,  may  be  distinguished  from  Ethics 
proper,  as  the  Psychological  Basis  of  I^thics. 

P'or  this  reason  our  science  is  compelled  to  draw 


'% 


t 


DEl-lNITION   AND    DIVISlOxN   OF   TIIK    SCIKNCK.        5 


vo  Views 
by  man,    j 

I  objects  y 
;ment  of 
lity,  two 
at  holds 

II  as  for 

Tiay  thus 
vision  of 
;eparated 
\c  isy  the  -;, 
he  latter 
Ethics  is 
we  shall 
it,  before 
leal  laws 
ought  to 
nee  with 
ts  forma- 

external 
by  stimu- 
anized  in 
forces  of 

directed, 
.vhich  his 
se  forces 

and  con- 
is  devoted 

III  Ethics 

1  to  draw 


upon  Psychology  for  some  of  its  materials  ;  but  Psy- 
chology is  not  the  only  science  with  which  it  is  thus 
brought  into  contact.  Man  is  not  a  solitary  ;  he 
stands  in  manifold  relations  to  his  fellows  ;  and  there 
can  be  no  normal  development  of  human  nature,  ex- 
cept under  the  reciprocal  action  of  human  beings, 
V>y  far  the  largest  part  of  those  obligations  which 
embody  what  men  ought  to  be,  arise  out  of  the  rela- 
tions in  which  they  actually  stand  to  one  another.  It 
will  appear,  also,  that  the  very  possibility  of  realizing 
the  moral  obligations  of  men  implies  that  they  exist, 
not  merely  in  an  indefinite  relation  to  one  another,  but 
in  that  definitely  organized  association  which  we 
understand  by  the  name  of  a  state,  —  a  community 
of  men  under  one  government.  The  ethical  relations 
of  men,  therefore,  necessarily  take  us  beyond  thc^^^^ 
individual  ;  they  require  us  to  view  men  as  forming 
regularly  organized  societies.  The  study  which 
inquires  into  the  laws  of  social  life,  is  })roperly  called 
Politics,  Political  Science,  or  Political  Philosophy  ; 
and  it  thus  appears  that  the  problems  of  P^thics  inevi- 
tably run  over  at  many  points  into  those  of  Politics. 
It  is  therefore  impossible  to  separate  the  spheres  of 
the  two  sciences  by  a  sharp  line  of  demarcation  ;  the 
main  difference  to  be  kept  in  view  being  the  fact, 
that  in  Ethics  it  is  the  good  of  the  individual  that 
forms  the  prominent  object,  the  good  of  society  being 
considered  as  subservient  to  that,  whereas  in  Politics 
this  relation  is  reversed ;  though  even  here  we  must 
never  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  the  good  of  society 
is  the  good,  not  of  an  abstraction,  but  of  the  concrete 
individuals  of  whom  society  is  composed.     This  will 


AN    INTRODUCTION    TO    K'l'lIICS. 


explain  why  many  of  the  most  celebrated  works  in 
the  literature  of  our  subject,  like  the  "  Republic"  of 
riato  in  the  ancient  world,  and  the  "  Leviathan  "  of 
Hobbes  in  the  modern,  might  with  equal  propriety 
be  described  as  treating  of  Political  Philosophy. 

It  thus  appears  that  Ethifs  is  of  necessity  led  to 
abstract  from  the  limitations  of  individual  life,  and 
to  contemplate  the  good  of  man  as  a  social  being  ; 
but  a  wider  abstraction  than  this  is  also  in  some 
measure  forced  upon  the  science.  All  that  is  valua- 
ble, and  is  therefore  considered  good  in  human  life, 
is  connected  with  nn  establislied  order.  The  savage 
condition  is  t)ne  in  whicli  there  is  nothing  settled,  — 
language,  law,  abode,  are  all  fluctuating  ;  the  immuta- 
ble principles  of  reason  have  not  yet  stamped  them- 
selves u})on  the  life  of  man.  With  the  advance  of 
civilization,  rational  order  comes  in  ;  man  seeks  more 
and  more  permanence  in  his  life.  This  permanence 
is  represented  in  the  laws  and  customs  which  g(n'ern 
every  state,  however  rude  its  civilization  may  be. 
But  is  there  no  principle  to  govern  the  life  of  man, 
more  permanent  than  the  laws  and  customs  of  differ- 
ent states  ?  Is  there  any  law  of  human  conduct  that 
is  absolutely  immutable  and  eternal  .'*  This  question 
obviously  takes  us  beyond  the  range  even  of  Politics, 
or  of  any  other  science  which  is  limited  to  man  ;  for 
it  seeks  to  find  a  law  which  is  imposed  upon  human 
life  by  the  very  nature  of  things.  But  the  essential 
nature  of  all  things  is  determined  by  the  Primal 
Cause  that  gives  them  existence.  Now,  the  science 
which  inquires  into  the  Primal  Cause  of  all  things  is 
Theology ;  and,  consequently,  under   the   treatment 


i. 


■* 


I)i:i[\ITH)X   AND    DIVISION'    OF   'rilK    SCIKNCK. 


works  in 
public  "  of 
iathan  "  of 

propriety 
)phy. 

sity  led  to 
1  life,  and 
:ial  bcini;; ; 
)  in  sonic 
t  is  valua- 
iiman  life, 
he  savaL;'c 
settled,  — 
ic  imniuta- 
ped  tliem- 
idvancc  of 
eeks  more 
:rmanence 
ch  irovern 
may   be. 

e  of  man, 
of  differ- 

iduct  that 
3  question 

f  Politics, 

man  ;  for 

)n  human 
essential 

ie   Primal 

e  science 
things  is 

;reatment 


of  some  great  thinkers,  ICthics  has  become  more  or 
less  intensely  theological.  A  conspicuous  example 
is  the  "  Pvthica  "  of  Spinoza,  who  is  compelled  by  his 
own  pantheistic  standpoint  to  view  all  individual 
uood  in  its  essential  connection  with  tlie  Infinite 
Substance,  in  whom,  or  in  which,  all  individual 
existence  disappears. 

Those  points  at  which  P>thics  touches  Politics  on 
the  one  hand,  and  Theology  on  the  other,  will  l)e 
more  fully  unfolded  in  their  i)roper  place.  Mean- 
while, it  must  be  ke[)t  in  mind  that  our  science  deals 
essentially  with  the  obligations  which  point  to  the 
ideal  good  of  the  individual,  and  it  is  only  incidentally 
that  it  refers  to  the  good  of  society,  or  that  of  the 


universe  at  large. 


1 


BOOK    I. 


THE   PSYCHOLOGICAL    BASIS   OF    ETHICS. 


As  already  stated,  this  Book  is  intended  to  inquire 
into  the  actual  constitution  of  man  for  the  purpose 
of  finding  out  the  influences  upon  which  he  must  de- 
pend for  the  development  of  his  character.  In  this 
inquiry  it  will  be  convenient  to  consider  man,  first  of 
all,  in  a  purely  natural  or  non-moral  aspect,  and  then 
proceed  to  examine  those  factors  of  his  constitu- 
tion by  which  he  is  rendered  capable  of  morality. 
This  Book  divides  itself  therefore  naturally  into  two 
I'arts. 


PART    I. 


MAN     NATURAL, 


Max  is  connect  :1  with  the  great  system  of  things 
which  he  calls  Nature  :  Juuiiau  nature  is,  in  fact,  a 
common  expression  by  which  he  describes  his  own 
constitution.  The  various  aspects  in  which  human 
nature  may  be  viewed,  form  the  subject  of  various 
scii;nces,  and  do  not  belong  therefore  sj:)ecially  to 
l"'.thics.  But  as  the  nature  of  man  forms  the  natural 
basis  of  his  life  in  general,  so  it  forms  the  natural 
basis  of  his  moral  life  in  particular,  and  therefore  we 
are  interested  in  finding  out  those  facts  in  his  natural 
organization  which  render  moral  life  a  possibility  in 
nature.  The  or^'^.-iization  of  man  may  be  viewed  in 
its  physical  and  in  its  psychical  aspects  separately. 


II 


CIIAPTKR   I. 


rnVSICAL    NATUKK    UI-     MAN. 


In  its  viatta-  the  physical  nature  of  man  is  con- 
nected with  the  existinj.^  matter  of  the  ori;anic  and 
inorganic  worlds,  governed  by  the  same  mechanical, 
chemical,  and  physiological  movements  which  are 
traceable  in  these.  In  lisfonii,  man's  physical  nature 
is  connected  historically  with  the  past  evolutions  of 
the  organic  world.  But  in  this  form  two  kinds  of 
facts  may  be  distinguished  ;  for  some  features  of  our 
physical  organization  are  common  to  the  whole  human 
race,  while  others  are  characteristic  of  p  .ticular  indi- 
viduals or  of  particular  sections  of  mankind. 

§  I.    Coninion  PJiysical  Nature  of  All  Bicn. 

The  general  structure  and  functions  of  the  human 
body  are  essentially  identical  in  all  men.  That  struc- 
ture and  those  functions  form  the  subjects  of  Anat- 
omy and  Physiology.  lu  its  psychological  aspect  the 
body  is  spoken  of  as  the  organ  of  the  soul ;  and  a 
scientific  Psychology  insists  on  giving  to  this  expres- 
sion its  fullest  and  most  exact  meaning.  It  is  not 
merely  the  brain,  or  any  other  limited  portion  of  the 
body,  that  serves  the  purposes  of  the  soul's  life.  The 
whole  body,  in  all  its   organs  and  in  all  their  func- 

13 


14 


A\    IXII-loDrCTloX    TO    !   IMIICS. 


tions,  is  siil)servicnt  to  tlicsc  hij^hor  uses.  Tt  is  csjio- 
cially  to  he  noted  in  connection  with  ICthics,  thai  the 
body  of  man  is  adapted  iov  the  purposes  ol  moral  lite 
in  i)articular,  as  well  as  for  thos(  of  human  life  in 
i^eneral,  by  the  fact  that  it  is  endowed,  not  merely 
with  a  receptive  sensibility  throu.L;h  which  it  is  i>layed 
upon  by  external  forces,  but  also  with  an  ap])aratus 
of  muscular  activity,  by  which  it  can  react  u|)on 
these  forces,  and  shape  the  material  world  to  the 
uses  of  man. 

The  human  body  has  many  features  that  are  com- 
mon U)  it  with  that  of  the  lower  animals,  yet  it  is 
also  peculiar  to  man  ;  and  probably  science  may  one 
day  be  able  to  show  that  this  distinctive  peculiarity 
in  the  organism  of  man  extends  to  the  structure  and 
action  of  every  tissue.  Tt  is  not,  therefore,  to  be 
supposed  that  the  physical  basis  of  man's  higher  life 
is  to  be  found  merely  in  his  brain  with  its  greater 
relative  mass  and  more  complicated  convolutions,  or 
in  the  untraceable  ramifications  of  nerve-fibre  which 
thrill  with  sensation  and  movement  every  part  of  the 
body.  lu'cn  the  lowest  organs  and  functions  of  ani- 
mal life  in  man,  such  as  those  of  digestion  or  repro- 
duction, arc  undoubtedly  differentiated  in  some 
peculiar  way  by  the  fact  that  they  furnish  the  physi- 
cal conditions  for  the  life  of  an  intellectual  and  moral 
being.  The  ethical  import  of  this  fact  will  appear 
more  clearly  as  we  proceed  ;  but  even  here  it  may  be 
observed  that  that  feeling  of  the  sacrcdncss  of  the 
body,  which  shrinks  from  injuring  it  by  ungentle 
violence  or  defiling  it  by  the  impurities  of  sensual 
excess,  will  probably  gain  force  from  the  scientific 


I 


to 
■ft' 


rnvsK'Af.  vATt'ui:  ok  max. 


15 


s  cspc- 

iKlt  tll<} 

)ra1  lil'o 
life   in 

nu'ivly 
l>l;iyo(l 

paratus 

t  upon 
lo  the 

"c  com- 
et  it   is 
lay  one 
uliarity 
lire  and 
,  to  be 
:lier  life 
greater 
ions,  or 
which 
of  the 
of  ani- 
r  rcpro- 
sonie 
physi- 
1  moral 
appear 
may  be 
of  the 
ngentlo 
sensual 
nentific 


rcllection  whicii  regards  the  body  as  capable  of  bo- 
comiiv^^  an  abode  of  the  spirit  of  morality,  —  "a 
tenii)le  of  the  Holy  Ghost." 

>^  2.    JVsdiictivc  PJiysical  Xatiirc  of  fiiifividiiais. 

lUit  besides  those  features  of  their  physical  or<;an- 
i/ation  which  are  common  to  all  men,  there  are 
others  which  distinj^aiish  different  individuals  and 
classes.'  These  distinctive  features  arc  due,  some- 
times to  influences  which  are  extrinsic  to  the  iiuli- 
vidual,  sometimes  to  influences  which  are  intrinsic. 

I.  The  influences  here  spoken  of  as  ixtriusic  to  the 
indixidual  are  those  of  hcrcility  or  race.  Amon^-  the 
general  ideas  by  which  the  various  dei)artments  of 
Natural  History  are  modified  at  the  present  day, 
there  is  probably  none  more  powerful  than  that  of 
hereditary  influence  as  a  factor  in  cleterminin.i:;  the 
peculiarities  of  organic  life.  Here,  therefore,  it 
would  be  as  idle  to  demonstrate,  as  it  w^ould  be  to 
controvert,  the  fact  of  this  influence,  b^ven  to  the 
unscientific  eye,  hereditary  features  are  stamped  too 
conspicuously  on  the  external  configuration  of  all 
organisms  to  have  allowed  at  any  time  serious  doubt 
as  to  the  actuality  of  this  force  in  organic  life.  All 
that  science  needs  to  add  to  the  common  convictions 
of  men  on  the  subject  is  in  drawing  attention  to  the 
fact  that  hereditary  influences  extend  not  only  to 
the  more  obvious  features  that  shape  the  exterior 
form  of  the  body,  but  also  to  the  minutest  structures 

1  In  conripctidii  witli  the  subject  of  this  section  the  student  is  referred  to 
my  Iliitidbook  of  Psychology,  pp.  ;-i2. 


i6 


AN  iNri<t)i)UcrK)N  'I'o  i:riii(s. 


'11  the  interior,  —  to  brain  and  nerve,  as  well  as  to 
muscle  and  bone. 

II.  Hereditary  features  are  traced  to  sources  out- 
side of  the  individual  ;  but  other  characteristics  of 
our  physical  nature  arise  from  influences  which,  as 
residing  in  the  constitution  of  the  individual  himself, 
may  be  spoken  of  as  intritisic.  Among  these  some 
are  more  general,  others  more  particular. 

r.  The  more  general  influences  are  found  in  the 
stable  factor  of  sex,  and  the  variable  factor  of  ai^c. 
Here  it  need  only  be  observed  that  the  influence  of 
these  factors  can  be  truly  appreciated  only  when  they 
are  'Mewed  as  modifying  more  or  less  powerfully  the 
entire  human  physique.  To  take  the  more  stable 
factor  by  way  of  illustration,  it  would  be  a  gross 
scientific  blunder,  involving  not  only  an  inadequate 
Psychology,  but  perhaps  also  a  more  objectionable 
morality,  to  restrict  the  difference  of  sex  entirely  or 
mainly  to  one  set  of  organs,  As  a  true  Physiology 
and  a  true  Psychology  look  on  no  single  organ,  but 
rather  on  the  whole  organism,  as  being  the  organ 
of  mind,  so  they  compel  us  to  regard  the  whole 
organism  as  an  exponent  of  the  difference  of  sex.^ 

2.  Many  of  the  influences  which  modify  the 
physical  life  of  man  are  characteristic  merely  of 
individuals.  Of  these  some,  like  height  and  beauty 
or  deformity,  may  be  traced,  in  part  at  least,  to 
heredity.  Others  are  peculiarities  of  structure  and 
function,  resulting  from  accidents  of  individual  life, 
such  as  injury  or  disease.  These  influences  are  apt 
to  be  more  stable   in  their  operation.     But  a  more 

1  HaiuUwok  of  Psyc/ioli\>;y.  p.   ;79. 


rilVSICAL   NATURE    OF    MAN. 


17 


well  as  to 

ourccs  out- 
teristics  of 
i  which,  as 
lal  himself,  ■ 
these  some 

und  in  the 
tor  of  <rf^r. 
nfluence  of 
'  when  they 
^erfully  the 
nore   stahlc 
be  a  gross 
inadequate 
)jcctionable 
entirely  or 
Physiology 
organ,  but 
the  organ 
the    whole 
of  sex.^ 
nodify    the 
merely  of 
and  beauty 
it  least,   to 
ucture  and 
i\idual  life, 
ices  are  apt 
hit  a  more 


« 


variable  effect  is  produced  by  the  peculiar  modifica- 
tion which  may  be  given  to  the  structure  or  function 
of  any  organ,  or  set  of  organs,  by  the  particular  habits 
of  an  individual. 

§  3.    Mail's  Relation  to  his  Physical  Nature . 

The  general  relation  of  man  to  nature  is  indicated 
by  the  fact,  which  will  be  more  fully  unfolded  in  the 
sequel,  that  he,  as  an  intelligent  agent,  stands  over 
against  all  unintelligent  phenomena,  in  a  manner 
wholly  different  from  that  in  which  they  are  related 
to  one  another.  The  very  function  of  intelligence, 
instead  of  being  merely  a  product  of  natural  forces, 
is  to  become  conscious  of  these,  and  thus  to  free  the 
intelligent  being  from  their  unqualified  sway.  It  is 
tiuis  that  every  advance  in  intelligence,  giving  to 
man  a  deeper  insight  into  the  forces  of  nature,  ele- 
vates him  into  a  position  from  which,  instead  of 
moving  in  helpless  subjection  to  their  control,  he 
learns  to  control  them  himself  and  direct  them  to  his 
own  purposes. 

This  control  of  man  over  natural  forces  might,  in 
one  view,  be  expected  to  cease  when  the  forces  are 
centred  in  his  own  nature,  forming  him  into  what 
he  naturally  is.  But  in  another  view  it  may  quite  as 
reasonably  be  assumed  that  the  forces  of  his  own 
nature,  as  nearest  to  him,  are  precisely  those  which 
he  can  most  readily  hold  in  check  by  the  free  activity 
of  his  intelligence ;  and  therefore  we  find  that  such 
influences  as  race  and  sex  and  age  are  very  far  from 
exercising  over  man  the  dominion  of  an  uncontrolla- 
ble force.     The  freedom  of  mind  from  the  tyrannous 


■1 


i8 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO  ETHICS. 


tl 


sway  of  sex  is  seen  in  the  manly  courage  which  emer- 
gencies have  sometimes  called  forth  in  women,  and 
in  the  womanly  tenderness  often  displayed  by  stern 
men.  In  like  manner  the  natural  tendencies  of  age 
are  also  at  times  counteracted  :  youth  occasionally 
displays  a  sober  thoughtfulness  more  characteristic 
of  advanced  life,  while  a  happy  juvenility  of  spirit  is 
not  infrequently  carried  down  into  a  hale  old  age. 
Neither  do  race-differences  form  the  sole,  or  even  the 
most  potent,  influence  in  national  organization ;  it  is 
an  obvious  fact  of  history,  that  they  are  being  per- 
petually overridden  by  spiritual  affinities  which  weld 
into  one  community  groups  of  men  who  are  ex- 
tremely different  in  their  origin. 


5. 


PSVCIIICAL   NATURE   OF    MAN. 


19 


rvhich  emcr- 
kvomcn,  and 
ed  by  stern 
icics  of  age 
occasionally 
laracteristic 
of  spirit  is 
lie  old  age. 
or  even  the 
nation ;  it  is 
:  being  per- 
which  weld 
dio  are   cx- 


/    / 


CHAPTER   II. 

PSYCHICAL    NATURE    OF    MAN. 


The  freedom  which  the  immediately  preceding 
section  ascribes  to  man,  over  the  forces  even  of  his 
own  nature,  becomes  more  marked  in  psychical  life  ; 
and  therefore  that  life  is  sometimes  described  as  if  it 
were  independent  of  natural  law  to  an  extent  which 
is  wholly  inconsistent  with  the  most  elementary 
notions  of  Psychology.  It  has  been  a  prominent 
controversy  in  Theology,  as  well  as  in  Philosophy, 
whether,  and  to  what  extent,  the  psychical  nature  of 
man,  upon  which  his  morality  founds,  is  affected  by 
hereditary  influences.  In  the  Christian  Church  it  has 
been  condemned  as  a  "  heresy,"  and  in  Philosophy, 
especially  as  influenced  by  the  predominant  scientific 
ideas  of  our  own  day,  it  is  likewise  an  untenable 
theory,  that  man's  nature  is  independent  of  the 
particular  race  with  which  he  is  hereditarily  con- 
nected. Every  department  of  science  which  treats 
of  human  life  is  being  profoundly  modified  by  the 
conviction  that  human  nature,  as  we  find  it  now  in 
all  its  manifestations,  is  in  some  sense  an  evolution 
of  human  nature  as  it  existed  in  the  past.  Accord- 
ingly the  mental  life  of  every  man  is,  in  a  large 
measure,  hereditarily  determined  by  the  narrower 
influences  of  his  immediate  ancestry,  by  the  wider 


20 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO  E^'IIICS. 


/ 


influences  of  the  jmrticular  race  to  which  he  belongs. 
It  is  impossible  therefore,  even  if  it  were  desirable, 
to  carry  out  that  crude  radicalism  which  would  act 
without  any  regard  to  the  past  history  of  the  indi- 
vidual, of  his  family,  or  of  his  race.  No  men  can  cut 
themselves  adrift  from  the  past  with  which  they  are 
connected  by  nature ;  and  this  natural  fact  will  be 
found  to  be  of  high  moral  and  political  significance, 
as  pointing  to  the  source  from  which  arise  the  dis- 
tinctive obligations  devolving  on  every  individual 
and  on  every  people. 

In  his  mental  life,  therefore,  as  well  as  in  his 
physical,  there  are  peculiarities  which  every  individual 
brings  into  the  world  with  him. 

The  influence  of  these  native  peculiarities  may  be 
traced  through  all  regions  of  mental  activity.  They 
produce  idiosyncrasies  of  intelligence,  th-^y  deter- 
mine distinctive  emotional  temperaments,  and  they 
give  that  peculiar  energy  to  the  will  which  mainly 
goes  to  form  what  is  commonly  understood  by  indi- 
viduality. Regarding  the  extent  to  which  these 
influences  of  "  blood"  affect  the  higher  life  of  man, 
two  extreme  views  have  been  maintained.  One  may 
be  described  as  the  aristocratic  view,  holding,  as  it 
does,  that  nature  has  established  an  aristocracy  of 
mind,  and  that  the  great  movements  of  human  history 
are  mainly  directed  by  the  force  which  issues  from 
the  exceptional  heroes  who  form  this  aristocracy. 
Another  view  may  be    contrasted  with  this  as  the 


1  Cuilyle.  in  his  works  fassiiu,  but  especially  in  liis  Lcctiocs  on  Heroes, 
Hero  ■  I  \  'orsliip,  a)id  the  Heroic  in  History,  may  be  taken  as  the  chief  repre- 
sentative  of  this  view. 


rSYCIIICAL   NATURE   OF   MAN. 


21 


le  belongs. 

desirable, 
would  act 
f  the  indi- 
iien  can  cut 
:h  they  are 
ict  will  be 
ignificance, 
•ise  the  dis- 

individual 

as   in   his 
y  individual 

tics  may  be 
^ity.     They 
th<iy   deter- 
s,  and  they 
ich  mainly 
od  by  indi- 
lich   these 
fe  of  man, 
One  may 
)lding,  as  it 
stocracy  of 
man  history 
ssues  from 
iristocracy. 
this  as  the 

'un's  on  Heroes, 
the  chief  reprc' 


democratic  extreme,  seeking  rather  to  level  heroic 
natures  down  to  the  plane  of  average  humanity,  and 
regarding  great  men  as  simply  the  creatures,  and  in 
no  true  sense  the  creators,  of  the  epochs  which  they 
represent.  A  sober  science  will  probably  steer  clear 
of  both  doctrines,  at  least  in  their  extreme  form. 
But  the  controversy  between  them  is  not  one  which 
we  are  called  to  settle.  For  us  it  is  sufficient  to 
recognize  the  general  fact,  that  every  man  is  marked 
by  peculiarities  of  mind  which  have  their  source  in 
his  natural  constitution 

It  is  in  these  inborn  peculiarities  that  the  power 
of  natural  law  over  the  mind  is  chiefly  manifested. 
Their  influence,  like  that  of  ether  natural  forces,  is  of 
course  limited  in  normal  life,  and  becomes  uncontrol- 
lable only  under  disease.  In  morbid  conditions,  how- 
ever, the  purely  natural  movements  of  mind  often 
pass  beyond  the  control  of  intelligent  volition,  and 
play  the  most  fantastic  freaks.  It  is  a  significant 
fact  in  this  connection,  that  the  achievements  of  that 
exceptional  native  power  which  is  commonly  under- 
stood by  the  name  of  genius  have  often  been  classed 
along  with  the  eccentricities  of  mental  disorder. 

Still,  the  true  nature  of  self-conscious  mind  would 
be  wholly  misunderstood,  if  it  were  viewed  as  re- 
lated to  the  forces  of  nature  simply  in  the  same  way 
as  these  are  related  to  one  another.  The  evolution 
of  human  consciousness  is  a  growing  insight  into 
the  laws  of  nature,  external  and  internal,  this  insight 
being  accompanied  with  a  growing  power  over  inter- 
nal feeling  as  well  as  external  conduct.  All  mental 
life  draws  its  natural  materials  from  the  sensations 


22 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


which  are  excited  by  the  play  of  external  forces  on 
the  physical  organism.  The  materials  of  sense,  thus 
supplied,  come  under  the  operation  of  mental  agen- 
cies, and  by  these  arc  organized  into  those  complex 
combinations  that  constitute  the  concrete  phenomena 
of  mind.  Among  these  organizing  agencies  of  mind 
there  is  one  of  a  lower  order,  whose  laws  are  in  their 
character  akin  to  those  of  natural  causation  in  gen- 
eral. This  is  the  agency  known  as  Association,  or 
Suggestion.  In  appearance  at  least,  suggestion  is 
simply  the  order  in  which  mental  phenomena  uni- 
formly follow  one  another  in  time,  as  the  laws  of 
nature  in  general  express  the  uniformities  of  sequence 
among  natural  phenomena.  We  find  accordingly  in 
experience  that  it  is  in  this  procedure  of  mental  life 
that  we  are  most  apt  to  be  dominated  by  successions 
of  thought  and  feeling  which  arc  more  or  less  in- 
dependent  of  our  control.  Even  in  moments  of 
the  most  active  mental  exertion  we  are  often  tor- 
mented by  the  distracting  suggestion  of  thoughts 
which  have  only  a  superficial  and  extrinsic  associa- 
tion with  the  immediate  subject  of  study  ;  while  at 
times,  when  the  higher  energies  of  mind  are  dormant, 
as  in  the  dreams  of  sleep  or  even  in  daydreams,  the 
fantastic  riot  in  the  play  of  conscious  life  is  mainly 
due  to  the  fact  that  its  course  is  directed  by  superfi- 
cial associations  instead  of  real  or  logical  connections. 
But  the  mental  life  of  man  is  not  wholly  ruled  by 
the  somewhat  mechanical  agency  of  association : 
there  is  a  higher  energy  of  mind,  which  is  recognized 
in  common  language  by  various  names,  such  as 
thought,  intellect,  understanding,  reason.     In  all  its 


cs. 

lal  forces  on 
)f  sense,  thus 
mental  agen- 
lose  complex 
e  phenomena 
icies  of  mind 
^s  are  in  their 
ation  in  gen- 
ssociation,  or 
sufTGfcstion   is 

nomcna  uni- 

the  laws  of 
;s  of  sequence 
iccordingly  in 
if  mental  life 
y  successions 
re  or  less  in- 

moments  of 
ire  often  tor- 

of  thoughts 
"insic  associa- 
idy  ;  while  at 
[  are  dormant, 
lydreams,  the 
life  is  mainly 
3d  by  superfi- 
1  connections. 
loUy  ruled  by 

association : 

is  recognized 

ncs,    such    as 

n.     In  all  its 


rSYClIICAL  NATURE   OF   MAN. 


23 


forms  this  function  of  mind  consists  essentially  of 
comparison  ;  and  it  is  by  means  of  it  that  we  become 
conscious  of  relations,  of  the  resemblances  and  differ- 
ences of  things.  The  evolution  of  muid  in  all  its 
manifestations  will  be  found  to  imply  the  growing 
ascendency  of  this  higher  function  over  the  lower. 
It  is  this  conscious  comparison  that  discovers  to  us 
rational,  real,  or  objective  connections,  and  frees 
thought,  emotion,  and  will  from  the  influence  of 
associations  that  are  purely  subjective,  non-rational, 
unreal. 

For  a  detailed  exposition  of  this  progressive 
ascendency  of  reason  in  the  mental  evolution  of  man 
the  student  must  of  course  refer  to  some  work  on 
Psychology.  But  without  digressing  into  questions 
of  purely  psychological  interest,  we  may  notice  in 
the  various  manifestations  of  mental  life  one  or  two 
facts  which  it  will  be  useful  for  the  student  of  Ethics 
to  keep  in  mind.  It  is  common  among  psychologists 
at  the  present  day  to  divide  the  manifestations  or 
mind  into  three  classes,  —  cognitions,  feelings,  and 
volitions.  For  convenience  this  classification  will  be 
assumed  without  criticism,  at  least  in  its  general  out- 
line. J\  all  these  three  forms  of  activity  it  will  be 
found  that  the  development  of  mind  means  the  ex- 
tension of  the  control  of  mere  association  by  reason 
or  reflective  comparison  ;  and  the  evidence  of  this 
general  law  may  prepare  the  way  for  a  recognition 
of  the  more  particular  fact,  that  the  same  process  of 
mental  development  leads  to  that  organization  of 
cognition  and  feeling  and  will  which  is  understood 
as  morality. 


Mtlk 


I<     .  I 


% 

1 


24 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


I.  Cognition,  or  knowledge,  of  course  implies  the 
lower  process  of  suggestion  :  but  it  becomes  knowl- 
edge, that  is,  it  becomes  a  conscious  apprehension  of 
objective  reality,  only  by  reflective  comparisons.  Of 
the  knowledge  thus  acquired,  avo  uses  may  be  dis- 
tinguished in  human  life ;  knowledge  may  be  either 
speculative  or  practical.  It  is  merely  speculative 
when  it  is  sought  for  its  own  sake,  without  reference 
to  any  ulterior  purpose  for  which  it  may  be  employed. 
But  knowledge  may  furnish  a  rule  for  the  guidance 
of  our  conduct  by  pointing  to  a  result  which  may  be 
attained  by  our  own  activity.  Knowledge  is  then  of 
something  more  than  merely  speculative  interest  ;  it 
becomes  practical.  It  need  scarcely  be  added,  that 
it  is  in  such  practical  application,  that  cognition  forms 
a  factor  of  morality. 

II.  Feeling,  or  emotion,  like  cognition,  finds,  of 
course,  its  natural  origin  in  sensation ;  for  sensations 
are  sources  not  only  of  information,  but  also  of  pleas- 
ure and  pain.  The  association  of  sensations  in  con- 
sciousness gives  rise  to  emotions  of  a  complex 
character,  and  these  complex  feelings  enter  into  more 
complex  combinations.  But  here  again  may  be 
traced  the  general  tendency  of  conscious  life  to  free 
itself  from  merely  natural  associations.  For  the 
complexities  of  emotion  are  developed  not  merely  by 
unreflective  associations,  but  also  by  the  higher  ex- 
ercise of  reflective  thought ;  and  it  is  the  influence 
of  this  higher  activity  that  directs  the  general  course 
of  emotional  development.  It  has  often  been  noticed, 
with  regard  to  some  feelings,  like  resentment,  that 
they  appear  not  only  in  the  form  of  hasty,  unreason- 


I 


n 


rSYCHICAL  NATURE   OF   MAN. 


25 


implies  the 
mes  knowl- 
ehension  of 
risons.  Of 
nay  be  dis- 
y  be  either 
speculative 
it  reference 

2  employed. 
le  guidance 
ich  may  be 

3  is  then  of 
interest  ;  it 
added,  that 
lition  forms 

;i,   finds,  of 

sensations 

so  of  pleas- 

3ns  in  con- 

a    complex 

r  into  more 

n   may   be 

ife  to  free 

P^or   the 

merely  by 

higher  ex- 

2  influence 

cral  course 

en  noticed, 

:ment,  that 

unreason- 


ing passions,  but  also  as  deliberate  or  intelligent 
emotions  which  tend,  with  the  progress  of  culture, 
to  supersede  the  lower  stage  of  feeling.  The  same 
tendency  may  be  traced,  more  or  less  distinctly,  all 
through  the  emotional  life,  at  least  after  it  has  left 
the  stage  of  mere  sensation.  It  is  among  the  higher 
developments  of  emotional  life  under  the  influence 
of  reflective  thought,  that  the  strictly  moral  feelings 
make  their  appearance. 

Ill,  Volition  —  voluntary  action  —  finds  its  natural 
basis  and  origin  in  the  impulsive  power  of  sensation, 
that  is,  its  power  as  a  motive  to  stimulate  activity. 
This  impulsive  power  attaches  to  all  the  feelings, 
those  of  most  intricate  complexity  as  well  as  those 
of  simple  sensation.  But  here  again  the  mental  life 
may  be  traced  through  the  same  stages  of  evolution 
that  have  been  already  pointed  out.  In  their  lower 
form  motives  are  merely  the  unreflective  incitements 
of  pleasure  and  pain, —  "blind  passions;"  but  in  their 
higher  form  they  become  intelligent  directors  of 
conduct  towards  some  end.  It  is  the  introduction  of 
this  factor  of  intelligence  into  the  direction  of  our 
conduct,  that  lifts  it  out  of  the  sphere  of  mere  natu- 
ral causation  to  the  higher  plane  of  self-conscious 
volition.     By  this  oiii-hi  becomes  nQouiQeaig, 

Volition  properly  introduces  us  to  the  moral  phe- 
nomena of  human  life,  and  the  full  discussion  of  it 
must  therefore  be  reserved  for  the  next  Part  of  this 
Book.  It  has  indeed  been  a  moot  point  among  moral- 
ists, whether  any  actions  of  man  are  imliffcroit,  that 
is,  neutral  in  regard  to  morality.  This  question  has 
been   sometimes   connected  with    a   doctrine  which 


26 


AN  INTRODUCTION  TO   KTHICS. 


\ 


ji 


fl  ; 


iii 


formed  a  prominent  feature  of  Stoieal  Ethics,  and 
was  carried  to  great  extravagance  by  the  Cynics  of 
ancient  Greece,  as  well  as  by  many  semi-philosophi- 
cal and  religious  sects  with  a  practical  code  of  a 
severely  ascetic  type.  The  doctrine  maintains  that 
everything  in  human  life  is  indifferent  to  the  wise 
man,  except  virtue  and  vice.  In  this  sense  of  tlie 
word,  "indifferent"  must  be  understood  to  denote 
anytliing  that  is  neither  good  nor  evil  in  its  essential 
nature.  The  question,  therefore,  which  is  raised  by 
this  doctrine,  belongs  in  strictness  to  Ethics  proper; 
it  is  an  inquiry  into  the  real  nature  of  the  Supreme 
Good,  to  which  the  life  of  man  ought  to  be  devoted. 

The  doctrine  of  the  Stoics  might  seem,  on  a  super- 
ficial view,  to  maintain  that  some  of  the  actions  of 
men  are  morally  indifferent ;  but  on  a  deeper  view 
this  inference  appears  to  be  unfounded ;  for  the 
Stoics  held  that  anything  which  is  beyond  the  reach 
of  the  will  —  any  condition  which  can  neither  with 
certainty  be  attained  nor  with  certainty  avoided  by 
voluntary  effort — cannot  be  called  good  or  evil  in 
any  true  sense  of  these  terms.  Moral  good  and  evil 
were  thus  restricted  to  the  sphere  of  voluntary 
activity ;  and  it  was  i)robably  understood  as  an  im- 
plication of  this  doctrine,  that  all  volition  partakes 
of  a  moral  character. 

It  is  true,  there  is  a  case  in  which  voluntary 
actions  are  commonly  and  properly  spoken  of  as 
indifferent.  When,  as  often  happens,  the  same  end 
may  be  reached  by  a  variety  of  means,  it  may  be 
quite  indifferent  which  of  the  means  is  selected,  even 
though  the  obligation  to  reach  the  end  may  render  it 


*« 


rSYCiriCAl.  NATURE   OF  MAN. 


27 


illiics,  and 
Cynics  of 
pliilosophi- 
codc  of  a 
Uains  that 
D  the  wise 
nsc  of  the 
to  denote 
s  essential 
;  raised  by 
cs  proper ; 


c  Supreme            -^ 

e  devoted.              i 

on  a  super-            'I 

actions  of 

ceper  view 

I ;   for   the 

the  reach 

either  with            | 

ivoided  by            1 

or  evil  in            | 

od  and  evil            I 

voluntary 

as  an  im-             ■ 

n  partakes 

1  voluntary 

)ken    of   as 

;  same  end            ■ 

it  may  be           ^ 

ected,  even           .1 

ly  render  it 

imperative  to  adojit  some  means  f(»r  the  purpose. 
With  regard  to  tliis  kind  of  indifference,  there  can 
be  no  dispute.  lUit,  even  in  this  case,  action  cannot 
be  said  to  be  absolutely  indifferent :  it  is  indifferent 
merely  in  relation  to  the  choice  of  means,  but  not 
so  far  as  regards  the  attainment  of  the  end. 

It  is  also  true  that  some  phenomena  of  human  life, 
which  are  commonly  spoken  of  as  actions,  are  cer- 
tainly indifferent  in  a  moral  point  of  view.  Such  is 
obviously  the  case  with  actions  that  are  done  with- 
out any  purpose.  But  such  actions  are  not  voluntary. 
A  voluntary  action  —  a  volition  —  is  precisely  an 
action  directed  by  intelligence  to  the  accomplishment 
of  a  certain  end.  It  is  only  then  that  action  becomes 
moral ;  and  an  action  cannot  but  have  a  moral  char- 
acter, when  it  is  voluntarily  controlled  by  an  intelli- 
gent purpose. 


I 


^  i 


PART  II. 


MAN     MORAL. 


In'  the  previous  Tart  we  have  seen,  tliat,  even 
when  we  approach  the  study  of  man  from  the  side  of 
his  natural  constitution,  the  moral  aspect  of  his  life 
c)l)trudes  itself  upon  our  view  ;  for  the  development 
of  his  mind  elevates  him  above  the  uncontrolled 
dominion  of  natural  law,  into  the  sphere  of  an  inde- 
pendent moral  activity.  This  was  indicated  in  :dl 
the  regions  of  his  mental  life.  First,  it  was  shovvn 
that  the  knowledge  which  he  acquires  by  the  exercise 
of  his  cognitive  powers,  grows  to  be  of  more  than 
speculative  interest.  As  an  active  being,  he  can- 
not choose  but  find,  in  the  truths  revealed  to  his 
knowledge,  rules  of  practical  use  for  the  guidance 
of  his  conduct.  It  was  further  pointed  out,  that  his 
actions  are  thus  no  longer  the  results  of  mere  blind 
imi)ulses,  but  assume  the  character  of  intelligent 
volitions,  to  be  estimated  by  reference  to  the  value 
of  the  ends  which  they  are  designed  to  serve.  And 
it  was  also  observed,  that,  among  the  complicated 
emotions  excited  in  the  conscious  life  of  man,  not  a 
few  derive  their  peculiar  tone  from  the  moral  charac- 
ter of  his  actions.  These  general  results  must  now 
be  examined  in  fuller  detail,  that  we  may  understand 
exactly  the  moral  facts  of   the  human   constitution. 

29 


30 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO    KTHICS. 


ri 


The  moral  life  of  man  appciirs  in  all  the  three  phases 
in  which  his  conscious  life,  in  general,  is  manifested; 
and  therefore,  in  analyzing  the  moral  consciousness, 
it  will  be  convenient  to  consider  it  as  cognition,  as 
feeling,  and  as  volition.  To  each  aspect  we  shall 
devote  a  separate  chapter. 

But,  before  entering  on  our  inquiry,  an  explanation 
seems  necessary,  regarding  the  method  to  be  pur- 
sued. It  is  evident  that  there  are  innumerable  dif- 
ferences in  the  moral  consciousness  of  men,  extending 
over  the  vast  interval  between  the  conscience  of  an 
Australian  savage,  and  that  which  has  been  developed 
among  the  finest  types  of  Christian  civilization.  It 
appears,  therefore,  as  if,  at  the  very  outset  of  our 
inquiry,  we  were  arrested  by  the  formidable,  if  not 
insuperable,  difficulty  of  determining  where  we  are 
to  find  the  moral  consciousness  in  its  purest  or  most 
distinctive  form.  It  has  been  a  common  assumption 
of  empirical  thinkers,  which  still  perverts  the  Empiri- 
cal Evolutionism  of  our  day,  that  the  r^rrZ/Vr  instances 
of  a  phenomenon  are  the  simpler^  that  the  later  are 
the  more  complex,  resulting  from  a  combination,  in 
time,  of  the  former.  The  confused  consciousness  of 
the  savage  or  the  child  is  therefore,  by  an  ambiguity 
of  language,  described  as  simple,  in  contrast  with  the 
distinct  consciousness  that  characterizes  the  educated 
man  of  civilization  ;  and,  accordingly,  the  psycholo- 
gist is  referred  to  the  former,  rather  than  the  latter, 
for  a  knowledge  of  the  precise  phenomenon  which  he 
may  wish  to  study.  Thus,  in  a  work  which  professes 
to  be  an  exposition  of  yEsthetics,  from  the  standpoint 
of    Empirical    Evolutionism,    the   writer   observes : 


MAN    MORAL. 


31 


3e  phases 
nift'stcd  ; 
liousncss, 
nition,  as 
vvc   shall 

pi  an  at  io  11 
)  be  pur- 
rable  dif- 
^xtending 
ice  of  an 
Icveloped 
ition.     It 
et  of  our 
»]e,  if  not 
•e  we  are 
or  most 
sumption 
e  Empiri- 
in  stances 
later  are 
nation,  in 
usness  of 
imbii2;uity 
with  the 
educated 
psycholo- 
le  latter, 
which  he 
professes 
.andpoint 
jbserves  : 


"The  worshipper  of  art  ,  .  .  will  probably  regard 
with  contempt  every  species  of  Dcsthetic  emotion 
except  those  most  elevated  ones  which  are  capable  of 
gratifying  his  own  fastidious  and  educated  taste.  I 
have  been  careful,  on  the  contrary,  to  seek  first  for 
an  explanation  of  such  simple  pleasures  in  bright 
color,  sweet  sound,  or  rude  pictorial  imitation,  as 
delight  the  child  and  the  savage  ;  proceeding  from 
these  elementary  principles  to  the  more  and  more 
complex  gratifications  of  natural  scenery,  music, 
painting,  and  poetry."  ^ 

A  similar  illusion  infects  to  some  extent  the  labors 
of  the  so-called  historical  school,  which  is  doing 
valuable  service  in  elucidating  the  historical  origin 
of  many  phenomena  in  human  life.  Even  the  most 
eminent  representative  of  the  school  in  English  lit- 
erature seems  to  be  misled  at  times  in  expecting  from 
its  methods  far  more  than  any  mere  history  can  pos- 
sibly yield.  "  It  would  seem  antecedently,"  says  Sir 
Henry  Maine,  "that  we  ought  to  commence  with  the 
simplest  social  forms  in  a  state  as  near  as  possible  to 
their  rudimentary  condition.  In  other  words,  if  we 
followed  the  course  usual  in  such  inquiries,  we  should 
penetrate  as  far  up  as  we  could  in  the  history  of 
primitive  societies.  The  phenomena  which  early 
societies  present  us  with  are  not  easy  at  first  to 
understand,  but  the  difficulty  of  grappling  with  them 
hears  no  proportion  to  the  perplexities  which  beset 
us  in  considering  the  baffling  entanglement  of 
modern  social  organization.     It  is  a  difficulty  arising 

1  Physiuiogical  /^si/ictics^hy  CvAwi  Allen,  B. A.     Preface.     Compare  pp. 
46,47. 


32 


AN    INTRODUCTION  TO    KTIIICS. 


/ 


lil!l 


ii 


from  their  strangeness  and  uncouth ness,  not  from 
their  number  and  complexity.  One  does  not  readily 
y;Qt  over  the  surprise  which  they  occasion  when 
looked  at  from  a  modern  point  of  view;  but  when 
that  is  surmounted,  they  are  few  and  simple  enough. 
Jkit,  even  if  they  gave  more  trouble  than  they  do, 
no  pains  would  be  wasted  in  ascertaining  the  germs 
out  of  which  has  assuredly  been  unfolded  every  form 
of  moral  restraint  which  controls  our  actions  and 
shapes  our  conduct  at  the  present  moment."  ^ 

If  these  words  are  taken  in  their  full  import,  they 
would  imply  that  the  sublimest  moral  ideas  and  feel- 
ings and  customs  of  modern  civilization  contain  not  a 
single  factor  which  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  ideas 
and  feelings  and  customs  of  primitive  savage  life,  the 
former  being,  in  fact,  merely  a  more  or  less  complex 
combination  of  the  latter.  But  there  is  a  fatal  confu- 
sion lying  at  the  root  of  such  an  assumption,  —  a 
confusion  that  seems  astonishing  enough  when  it  is 
seen  to  affect  the  word  simple.  This  term  is  used  in 
two  meanings,  which  are  not  only  different,  but  apt  to 
be  directly  opposed.  It  is  often  applied,  in  contra- 
distinction from  composite^  to  denote  anything  which, 
though  capable  of  entering  into  combinations  with 
other  things,  is  itself  indecomposable.  But  it  is  also 
frequently  employed,  especially  in  the  sciences  of 
human  life,  to  describe  phenomena  which  have  not 
been  subjected  to  any  complicated  artificial  analysis, 
but  are  left  in  their  original  natural  unity,  even 
though  that  unity  be  merely  a  confusion  of  elements 

1  Ancient  Lcnv,  pp.  115,  1  id  (Aimr   cd.). 


mg 

mat 

sol^ 

clei 

n;iti 

con 

anc 


ei 


th 

sta 

inc 

met 

Ch 

carl 


MAN    MORAL. 


33 


lot  from 

>t  readily 

m   when 

lut  when 

enough. 

they  do, 

he  germs 

rcry  form 

;ions   and 
'  1 

)ort,  they 
.  and  feel- 
tain  not  a 
the  ideas 
;e  life,  the 
s  complex 
ital  confu- 
ption,  —  a 
when  it  is 
is  used  in 
but  apt  to 
in  contra- 
inir  which, 
tions  with 
t  it  is  also 
ciences  of 
1  have  not 
[i\  analysis, 
nlty,   even 
I"  elements 


so  manifold  and  so  entangled  as  to  form  an  object  of 
despair  to  the  scientific  analyst. 

There  is  no  department  of  science  in  which  it  is 
not  essential  to  keep  this  distinction  in  view.  All 
through  the  material  world,  even  in  the  phenomena 
of  mechanism  and  chemism,  the  '*  simplicity "  of 
nature  is  almost  always  a  combination  of  so  many 
elements,  and  a  confusion  of  these  so  complete,  as  to 
have  baffled  the  analysis  of  scientific  thought  till 
comparatively  recent  times.  Sir  tl.  Maine  illustrates 
the  doctrine  of  the  passage  quoted  above  by  refer- 
ence to  the  procedure  of  Chemistry.  **  The  mistake," 
he  says,  meaning  the  mistake  of  not  commencing 
with  the  earliest  forms  of  society,  "  is  analogous  to 
the  error  of  one  who,  in  investigating  the  laws  of  the 
material  universe,  should  commence  by  contemplat- 
ing the  existing  physical  world  as  a  whole,  instead  of 
beginning  with  the  particles  which  are  its  simplest 
ingredients."^  True,  the  chemical  combinations  of 
matter,  to  be  completely  understood,  must  be  re- 
solved into  their  constituent  elements.  lUit  these 
elements  are  not  found  in  the  forms  of  matter  which 
nature  evolves  first  in  the  order  of  time.  On  the 
contrary,  they  are  later  products  of  a  complicated 
and  artificial  analysis  ;  and  the  further  back  we  go, 
there  is  some  reason  to  believe,  we  come  nearer  to  a 
state  in  which  matter  appears  merely  as  an  indefinite 
incoherent  homogeneous  mass.  If  the  historical 
method,  as  conceived  by  Maine,  were  applied  to 
here  miirht  be  some 


■y 


J' 


earliest  of  luu-opean  thinkers  pitching  upon  water  as 


1  .liuitiit  La-c,  pp.  115,  ii'i  (Aiucr.  cd  ). 


kin 


34 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


the  primal  principle  of  things  ;  for  it  is  a  more  simple 
product  of  nature  than  the  hydrogen  and  oxygen 
into  which  it  is  resolved  by  the  complex  analysis  of 
the  modern  chemist. 

If  this  method  is  inapplicable  in  the  sciences  of 
external  nature,  can  it  be  applied  in  the  science  of 
mind  ?  Are  we  to  seek,  in  the  so-called  simple  feel- 
ings and  thoughts  of  the  child  or  savage,  the  really 
simple  elements  which  enter  into,  and  explain,  the 
complex  combinations  that  make  up  the  activity  of 
the  mature  mind  in  civilized  life  .^  As  already. stated, 
this  has  in  general  been  an  implicit  assumption  of 
Empiricism  ;  and  it  is  perhaps  essential  to  that 
system  of  thought.  For  if  the  human  mind  is  wholly 
a  product  of  human  experience,  then  its  latest  phe- 
nomena can  be  nothing  more  than  aggregations  of 
elementary  feelings  furnished  in  earlier  life ;  and  the 
whole  problem  of  Psychology  must  be  to  trace  those 
later  aggregations  back  to  the  earlier  feelings  out  of 
which  they  have  been  formed  in  process  of  time. 

This  assumption  has  been  announced,  as  a  general 
principle  of  philosophiccd  inquiry,  perhaps  more  ex- 
plicitly by  IMr.  J.  S.  IVIill  than  by  any  previous 
empiricist.  The  opponents  of  Empiricism  have 
often  pointed  out,  in  more  or  less  explicit  language, 
that,  while  it  is  a  proper  enough  inquiry  of  empirical 
Psychology  to  find  out  the  temporal  conditions  under 
which  an  idea  makes  its  appearance  in  consciousness, 
the  real  source  of  the  idea  may  be,  not  in  the  com- 
bination of  these  conditions,  but  in  the  very  neces- 
sities of  a  self-conscious  intelligence,  these  conditions 
forming  merely  the  occasions  on  which  intelligence 


T! 


Octc 

(Ail, 

lilaii 

11(1(1 

I'iric 

time 

liistcj 

ill  It/ 1 

toric 

cisni 


MAN    MORAL 


;5 


calls  into  play  its  own  intrinsic  resources.  In  the 
early  part  of  this  century,  Cousin,  in  his  famous 
critique  of  Locke's  Essay,  had  expressed  this  fact 
somewhat  happily  by  distinguishin*^^  between  the 
c/nvjiolo-^icdl  and  the  /oi^-ical  ori<;in  of  an  idea  ;  that  is, 
betw'een  its  orii;in  in  time  and  its  ori>j;in  in  the  neces- 
sities of  thouirht.^  In  criticisinu;  this  valuable  dis- 
tmction,  Mr.  Mill  _L;'ives  explicit  utterance  to  the 
principle  of  I'^mpiricism,  maintainin;j;  that,  in  the  last 
analysis.  Philosophy  has  no  question  with  reL;\ard  to 
the  origin  of  our  ideas,  excej^t  that  which  concerns 
their  temporal  order,  —  their  origin  in  *'me.- 

If  this  assumption  of  l^mpiricism  were  justified,  \vc 
should  rec[uire  to  reso>  l  the  consciousness  of  {)rimi- 
tive  man  as  presenting  human  ideas  in  their  purest 
analytic  clearness,  free  from  the  complexities  amid 
which  they  are  entangled  in  the  syntheses  of  the 
cultured  mind.  The  rude  delights  of  barbarism  and 
child-life  would  present  the  purest  types  of  aesthetic 
feeling,  the  true  nature  of  which   is  only  concealed 


in  the  developed  co 


)n 


The   unskilled   meas 


sciousness  of  the  civilized  artist, 
urements  of   the   primitive  me- 


itelligcnce 


1  Course  of  ihc  History  of  Moih'ni  PJiilosopJiy,  I.octurcs  i6  and  17. 

-  Sec  liis  article  on  "  Bain's  I'sychology,"  in  the  Ediubiir^^Ii  Review  for 
Oi  tohcr,  1S59,  I'cprinted  in  Disscrtat'tont  and  Discussions,  \'iil.  IV..  p.  109 
(Amor.  cd.).  Compare  also  his  modes  of  cxplainini;  the  laws  of  nature,  all  e.x- 
pKniation  of  these  being  reduced  to  a  mere  statement  of  temporal  oriler  {f.Oi^ic, 
iiook  III.,  chapter  xii.).  Without  entering  upon  the  general  principles  of  I'"m- 
piricisni.  it  may  be  observed  that  not  only  does  Mr.  Mill's  candor  lead  liiin  at 
limes  to  recog.iizo  necessities  of  thought  which  cannot  be  reduced  to  a  merely 
historical  origin,  as.  for  example,  in  his  treatment  of  self-consciousness  (E.xain- 
iiuition  of  JIiui!iIfo)i's  Philoscfliy,  chapter  xii.),  but  his  exposition  of  the  iiis- 
torical  method  in  social  science  may  be  taken  as  a  corrective  of  extreme  Fmpiri- 
cism,  especially  in  reference  to  the  particular  jioint  at  present  under  discussion 
{L.ogicy  Book  VI.,  chapters  x.  and  xi.). 


i 


it 


36 


AN    IXTRODL'CTION   TU   Ja'lIICS. 


chanic  shoiikl  then  l)c  taken  as  conveying  a  "sim- 
pler" idea  of  space  and  its  figures  than  all  the 
"comi)lexities"  which  geometrical  science  has  devel- 
oped since  the  time  of  luiclid  ;  modern  Astronomy 
and  Chemistry  should  be  regarded  as  a  perplexing- 
departure  from  the  primitive  "  simj^licity "  of  the 
astrologer  and  the  alchemist.  It  would  seem  also, 
that,  since  the  belief  in  ghosts  precedes  the  belief  in 
God,  the  later  belief  can  be  merely  a  more  complex 
mollification  of  the  earlier.^ 

The  truth  is,  therefore,  that  the  whole  method  of 
referring  to  the  undeveloped  consciousness  of  the 
child  or  savage  for  the  logical  type  and  source  of  the 
contents  which  are  to  be  found  in  the  educated  con- 
sciousness of  civilized  lite  is  based  on  a  false  psycho- 
logical theory  as  to  the  course  which  the  mind  follows 
in  its  development.  "  It  is  too  often  fancied,"  says 
M.  Renan,  "that  the  simplicity  which  in  relation  to 
our  analytic  processes  is  anterior  to  complexity,  is  so 
likewise  in  the  order  of  time.  This  is  a  relic  of  the 
old  habits  of  scholasticism  and  of  the  artificial 
method  which  the  logicians  brought  into  P.sychology. 
For  example,  from  the  fact   that  a  judgment  can  be 

1  It  is  but  duo  to  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  to  observe  that,  although  one  of  the 
most  prominent  representatives  of  the  theory  wliich  traces  tiie  historical  ori.ijin 
of  the  religious  consciousness  to  the  belief  in  ghosts,  he  has  yet  explicitly 
jirotested  against  the  assumjition  that  the  historical  origin  of  an  idea  can  settle 
the  question  of  its  logical  origin,  that  is,  its  philosophical  foundation.  To  him 
the  religious  consciousness,  even  at  the  first,  ••  contained  a  germ  of  truth  obscured 
by  multitudinous  errors  ;"' and  as  this  germ  is  more  fully  expanded  in  the 
later  develoiinients  of  the  religious  consciousness,  it  can  be  far  more  clearly  com- 
prehended as  it  ajiiiears  in  these  than  among  the  multitudinous  errors  by 
which  it  is  obscured  in  tiie  religious  consciousness  of  jirimitive  man.  See  his 
controversy  with  Mr.  F.  Harrison  in  The  Nutctcculh  Cfniury  for  1SS4,  espe- 
cially his  lirst  article. 


MAN    Mr)RAL. 


37 


"  sim- 
.11  the 
dcvcl- 
3nomy 
dexini;' 
)f  the 
n  also, 
jlicf  in 
jiiiplcx 

hod  of 
of  the 

of  the 
jd  con- 
psych  o- 
foUovvs 
1,"  says 

ion  to 
is  so 
f  the 

tificial 

lology. 

can  be 

one  of  the 
lical  oii.^in 
explicitly 
,  can  settle 
n.    To  him 
th  obscured 
cd  in  the 
early  com- 
s  errors  by 
See  his 
1SS4,  espc- 


;  O 


decomposed  into  iduis  or  simple  apprehensions 
stripped  of  all  affirmation,  the  old  logic  inferred 
that  simple  apprehension  precedes  the  affirmative 
judgment  In  the  mind.  Now,  the  judgment  is,  on 
the  contrary,  the  natural  and  primitive  form  of  the 
exercise  of  the  understanding :  the  idea,  as  the 
logicians  understand  it,  is  only  a  fragment  of  the 
whole  action  by  which  the  human  mind  proceeds. 
So  far  fn^m  the  mind  beginning  with  analysis,  the 
first  act  which  it  performs  is,  on  the  contrary, 
complex,  obscure,  synthetic  ;  everything  is  huddled 
together  and  indistinct.  *  Rude  men,'  says  Turgot, 
"do  nothing  simple.  It  requires  men  of  culture  to 
reach  that.'  "  ^ 

There  is  no  more  satisfactory  evidence,  especially 
where  historical  records  fail,  with  regard  to  the  men- 
tal condition  of  primitive  man,  than  that  which  is 
afforded  by  language  ;  and  the  remarks  just  quoted 
from  Renan  form  the  introduction  to  a  number  of 
illustrations  which  he  gives  of  the  quaint  syncretism 
that  characterizes  early  speech.  A  larger  body  of 
evidence  on  the  same  subject  is  collected  in  Dr. 
Romanes'  recent  work  on  Jlh-ntal  Erol/itioii  in  ^faii ;  ^ 
and  this  evidence  is  all  the  more  valuable,  as  it  is 
given  in  a  work  whose  primary  object  is  to  maintain 
the  most  thorough  emniricism  with  regard  to  the 
origin  of  man.  All  evidence,  therefore,  goes  to 
show  that,  as   the   evolution   of  the   human  mind  is 

1  Rcnan's  De  VOr'i\:;ine  du  F^aiic^ai^c,  pp.  151,  152. 

2  Chapter  xiv.  For  details,  whicli  arc  often  extremely  interesting,  the  stu- 
di  nt  must  refer  to  Renan  and  Romanes,  and  tlic  numerous  autliorities  whom 
they  cite.  Earlier  reco^jnitions  of  tlie  same  tiutli  with  rcjj;ard  to  iirimitive  lan- 
guage arc  noticed  in  Tiiomson's  Outline  of  the  Liuvs  of  Tltoii\:;ht,  §§  20-22. 


H 


1  '. 


'»1  ! 


38 


AN  INTRODUCTION  TO   KTIIICS. 


towards  a  more  distinct  analysis,  that  must  be  a  mis- 
take in  method  which  seeks  the  really  simplest  form 


of 


any  mental  phenomenon  in  the  confused  con- 
sciousness of  the  savage  or  the  child.  In  the  cul- 
tured mind  of  the  civilized  man,  a  phenomenon  like 
conscience,  or  taste,  or  the  idea  of  God,  may  be  so 
differentiated  as  to  be  clearly  distinguishable,  whereas 
in -the  undeveloped  mind  of  the  savage  or  the  child 
it  may  be  so  commingled  and  confounded  with  other 
phenomena  as  to  be  unrecognizable  except  in  the 
light  of  the  more  analytic  consciousness.  This 
principle  must  therefore  determine  the  method  upon 
which  we  are  to  proceed  in  our  present  inquiry. 
Although  we  must  not  ignore  any  form  of  the  moral 
consciousness  which  has  made  its  appearance  in  the 
moral  history  of  mankind,  yet,  if  we  wish  to  know 
what  the  moral  consciousness  distinctively  is,  we 
must  study  it,  not  at  those  stages  of  an  undeveloped 
moral  life  in  which  it  is  still  inextricably  confused 
with  other  ideas  and  feelings  of  a  purely  natural 
order ;  wc  must  examine  it  rather  in  the  light  of  that 
highly  differentiated  moral  activity  which  forms  the 
latest  and  noblest  fruit  of  civilization. 


ii! 


iil'l 


THE  MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS   AS   COGNITION. 


39 


THE    MORAL    CONSCIOUSNESS    AS    COGNITION. 


11 


CHAPTER   I. 


Though  the  language  of  some  philosophers  might 
seem  to  imply  that  they  regarded  the  moral  element 
in  our  consciousness  as  exclusively  emotional,  yet  it 
is  impossible  to  express  the  moral  consciousness  in 
terms  which  do  not  imply  that  it  involves  a  cognition. 
In  its  etymology  the  term  conscience  denotes  most 
prominently  the  cognitive  aspect  of  the  moral  con- 
sciousness ;  and  it  is  by  the  activity  of  conscience 
that  we  are  furnished  with  those  factors  of  our 
knowledge  which  we  call  moral  ideas  or  notions,  and 
mordX  Judgments.  It  is  these  ideas  and  judgments 
that  we  have  now  to  analyze. 

Conscience  is  the  cognitive  activity  called  into 
play  when  we  are  consciously  in  presence  of  a  moral 
action.  If  we  reflect  carefully  on  this  activity,  we 
shall  find  that  it  refers  to  three  facts,  which  it  is 
important  to  distinguish,  in  connection  with  the 
moral  action  to  which  it  is  directed,  (i)  We  are 
conscious  that  the  action  ought  or  ought  not  to  be 
done.  (2)  We  are  conscious  of  a  certain  quality 
in  the  action,  by  virtue  of  which  it  ought  or  ought 
not  to  be  done.  (3)  We  are  conscious  that  the 
action  is  one  for  which  the  agent  deserves  a  certain 
requital.     The  first  of  these  facts  is  generally  spoken 


li  '  i 

'       1 


40 


A\    INTRODUCTION'    TO    KTIIICS. 


of  as  vioval  ob/i^i^adi'Ji.  The  (nuility  of  an  action, 
upon  which  moral  ol)liij;ati()n  (k'l^cnds,  is  denoted 
by  such  words  as  7'i^i^//fiicss  and  j^-cot/zuss,  with  their 
opposites,  7C'roui^/U'ss  and  badness  ;  while  the  third 
characteristic,  to  which  our  moral  judi;nients  refer, 
is  briefly  described  as  (h'scrt.  To  each  of  these 
subjects  a  separate  section   will  be   devoted. 

Throughout  the  whole  of  this  discussion,  it  is  of 
great  importance  for  the  student  to  bear  in  mind, 
that  the  questions  involved  are  purely  psychological, 
dealing  merely  with  subjective  facts,  that  is,  with 
our  consciousness  of  obligation,  of  goodness,  of 
desert.  These  psychological  questions  must,  there- 
fore, be  kept  at  present  wholly  distinct  from  the 
strictly  ethical  inquiry  into  what  it  is  that  in  reality 
constitutes  the  obligation,  the  goodness,  and  the 
desert    of   actions, 

§  I.    lyic  CouscioHSJicss  of  3 f oral  Obligation. 

Before  attempting  to  explain  any  j^henomenon, 
it  is  necessary  to  know  precisely  what  the  phenome- 
non is ;  and  therefore  we  must  first  endeavor  to 
present  clearly  the  exact  nature  of  the  consciousness 
of  moral  obligation  before  we  inquire  into  its  origin. 

When  the  fact  of  moral  obligation  is  clearly  appre- 
hended, it  must  be  felt  that  scarcely  anything  in  the 
universe  is  calculated  to  fill  the  mind  with  deeper 
awe.  The  "fearful  and  wonderful"  structure  of 
organic  forms,  the  minuteness  of  the  objects  and 
processes  revealed  by  the  microscope,  even  the  vast- 
ness  of  the  starry  spaces,  —  these  do  not  awaken 
more  solemnity  of  thought  than  the  deliverance  in  our 


jpcr 
of 
and 
ast- 
kcn 
our 


^1 


TIIK   MORAI,   CONSCIOUSNKSS    AS    COCJMTIDX.       41 

consciousness  of  a  law,  more  limitless  than  the  whole 
material  universe,  unrestricted  in  its  demands  by  the 
limitations  of  time  or  of  space.  T'or  the  distinctive 
characteristic  of  this  consciousness,  as  it  is  devel- 
oped under  a  pure  moral  culture,  is  the  uncon- 
ditionally imperative  claim  which  it  makes  upon  our 
obedience. 

This  characteristic  of  absoluteness  is  often  spoken 
of  as  the  sui)remacy  of  conscience,  and  it  is  im[)lie(l 
in  every  conception  of  the  moral  consciousness  that 
is  worth  considering;^.  It  is  finely  embodied,  for 
example,  in  Plato's  comparison  of  the  individual  to 
a  state,  with  his  various  powers  performini;-  dif- 
ferent functions  corresponding  to  the  functions  of 
the  different  classes  of  societ}',  but  all  subordinate 
to  the  governing  authority  —  lu  »',; f uoitxoj'.  It  is  evi- 
dent, therefore,  that  the  very  function  of  the  moral 
consciousness,  even  the  nature  of  man  as  a  whole, 
would  be  misunderstood,  if  we  failed  to  recognize 
the  absolute  authority  with  which  this  consciousness 
asserts  its  claim  for  obedience.  The  phenomenon, 
which  we  require  to  explain,  is  the  consciousness  of 
an  unconditionally  imperative  demand  upon  us,  — 
of  a  duty  which  we  are  under  an  absolute  obligation 
to  fulfil.  "  Duty !  thou  sublime  great  name,  .  .  . 
what  is  the  origin  that  is  worthy  of  thee,  and  where 
arc  we  to  find  the  root  of  thv  noble  descent  ?  "  ^ 


I 


n  seeking  an  answer  to  this   question,  we  come 


upon  two  fundamentally  antagonistic  views  of  man. 
One  of  these  looks  upon  him  as  simply  one  among 


'   Kant's    Kritik    dcr    A' 
stein's  cd.). 


ClIlCIl 


P) aliiSi/iot    I'cDuuift,   p.    91    (Ilartcn- 


1H 


il 


\ 


42 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO   Kill  US. 


''   'I 


the  manifold  [jlicnonicna  of  nature,  acted  u.pon  by 
them  })reciscly  in  the  same  way  as  they  arc  acted 
upon  by  one  anollier.  On  this  view,  all  the  facts 
of  man's  life  are  merely  products  resultin^i;  from  the 
agency  of  the  forces  of  nature  ;  and  therefore,  the 
consciousness  of  man,  in  all  its  asi)ects,  is  shaped 
entirely  by  the  action  of  these  forces  upon  his 
or<.;anism.  As  the  consciousness  thus  jiroduced  is 
due  wholly  to  man's  exi)eriencc  of  natural  phenomena, 
the  theory  in  question  is  commonly  described  as 
experiential,  or  empirical,  sometimes  as  naturalistic, 
sometimes  by  other  equivalent  names  which  will  bo 
noticed  hereafter. 

The  opposite  theory  finds  in  the  consciousness  of 
man  a  factor  or  factors  transccndiuL;  the  order 
of  natural  phenomena,  and  not  to  be  accounted  for 
by  any  mere  experience  of  that  order.  The  theory 
is,  therefore,  often  spoken  of  as  Transcendentalism. 

The  antagonism  between  these  two  views  runs 
more  or  less  prominently  through  the  whole  history 
of  Philosophy,  and  affects  the  solution  of  all  great 
philosophical  problems.  In  our  present  inquiry  wc 
come  upon  this  antagonism  almost  at  its  very  centre, 
—  certainly  at  a  point  where  the  highest  interests  of 
human  life  are  most  closely  involved.  Here,  there- 
fore, the  feelings  arc  apt  to  be  so  warmly  enlisted, 
that  it  is  important  to  put  the  student  on  his  guard 
against  sacrificing  truth  to  cherished  wishes  or  pre- 
conceived opinions. 

It  will  be  convenient  to  discuss  the  two  theories 
separately. 


THK   MOkAl,  CONSCIOUSNKSS    AS   COGNITION.       43 


t 


Subscc/ion  I,  —  F-mpirical  'I  hciny. 

Wc  shall  first  sketch  the  explanation  which  the 
empirical  theory  gives  of  the  consciousness  of  moral 
obligation.  Like  all  doctrines  which  have  played 
a  conspicuous  part  in  the  history  of  speculation,  the 
theory  in  question  cannot  be  reduced  to  one  state- 
ment embracing  all  the  various  forms  into  which  it 
has  been  modified  by  its  numerous  rei^resentatives. 
Still,  these  various  modifications  affect  merely  details. 
Under  all  modifications,  the  essential  drift  of  the 
theory  remains  the  same  :  it  is  an  endeavor  to  show 
how,  by  the  natural  experience  of  a  being  without 
any  ideas  of  morality,  a  consciousness  of  moral  obli- 
gation is  produced.  We  shall,  therefore,  sketch  the 
theory  in  its  leadinL-;  features,  noticing  a  few  of  the 
more  important  modifications  as  we  proceed. 

I.  Rjupirical  Theory  stated.  —  The  gist  of  this 
theory  will  perhaps  be  grasped  most  clearly  by  dis- 
tinguishing three  stages  through  which  our  con- 
sciousness  is  supposed  to  pass  before  it  becomes 
distinctively  moral. 

I.  Seeking  the  origin  of  the  moral  consciousness 
in  a  consciousness  which  is  as  yet  non-moral,  the 
empiricist  first  inquires,  what  is  the  earliest  experi- 
ence wdiich  human  life  brings,  that  actions  are  not 
indifferent,  that  they  do  possess  a  different  worth  of 
some  kind  .''  In  accordance  with  the  general  princi- 
ples of  his  Philosophy,  the  empiricist  finds  this  early 
experience  in  the  more  mechanical  agency  of  mind,  — 
in  the  associations  which  different  actions  form  in  our 
consciousness.     These    associations   are  founded  on 


44 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


1      .,1  I, 


the  laws  of  natural  causation  ;  for  every  action  is  a 
natural  cause,  followed  with  invariable  uniformity 
by  its  appropriate  effect.  The  effects  of  different 
actions,  however,  are  different  ;  and  it  is  the  associa- 
tion of  different  kinds  of  action  with  different  effects, 
that  furnishes  the  prhnal  experience  of  a  difference 
in  the  relative  worth  of  different  actions.  This 
association  is  too  obvious  to  be  disputed.  The  prov- 
erl),  that  a  burnt  child  dreads  fire,  is  merely  one 
of  many  familiar  evidences  of  the  association  which 
the  mind  forms,  even  in  early  life,  between  our  actions 
and  their  results. 

The  peculiar  results  of  action,  upon  which  the 
consciousness  of  moral  obligation  is  alleged  to  be 
founded,  are  variously  estimated  by  different  empiri- 
cists. Yet  all  these  variations  in  the  exposition  of 
the  theory  unite  in  maintaining  that  the  results  of  our 
actions,  which  produce  the  consciousness  of  moral 
obligation,  are  alwr.ys  some  form  of  pleasure  or  pain. 
The  pleasures  and  ]);,:ns  resulting  from  our  actions, 
appeal  in  the  first  instrnce  to  that  regard  for  our  own 
welfare  which  is  understood  :)y  self-love  or  j^ru- 
dence  ;  and  writers  who  defend  what  is  known  as  the 
Egoistic^  Theory  of  Morals,  regard  conscience  as 
being  merely  a  kind  of  prudential  calculation.     Even 

1  It  is  comiiKm  among  older  writers  to  dub  this  tlic  Sclfisli  Theory;  but 
as  tiie  term  selfish  Is,  in  common  usai^c,  always  understood  to  imply  oppro- 
brious ]iractical  conseciucnces.  it  is  scarcely  fair  to  use  it  In  reference  to  a 
purely  speculative  doctrine.  In  ethical  controversy  it  is  necessary,  In  general, 
to  avoid  confounding  the  pr.actical  with  the  sjieculative  ;  and  when  a  practical 
tendency  is  alleged,  it  should  be  alleged  rather  as  a  logical  inference  than  as 
an  actual  result.  It  is  true  that  generally  in  practical  life  men  fall  short  of 
their  moral  theories,  Init  sometimes  tlicy  rise  superior  to  them;  and  there  have 
been  speculative  egoists,  like  lleivetius,  of  conspicuous  benevolence  in  practice, 


THE   MURAL   CONbCIOUSxNKSS   AS   COGNlllUX. 


45 


fit 


here   there   are    irrcat    differences    of   detail    in    the 

o 

exposition  of  egoistic  systems  ;  some  moralists  ana- 
lyzing conscience  into  a  self-love  of  such  a  liberal 
character  as  to  include  a  regard  for  others  amonir  its 
indispensable  factors,  while  in  all  ages  there  have 
been  a  few  writers  who  seem  to  take  a  peculiar  delight 
in  shocking  the  common  convictions  of  men  by 
eliminating  from  the  moral  consciousness  every 
element  of  disinterestedness,  and  reducing  it  to  a 
more  or  less  concealed  craving  for  some  petty 
personal  gratification. ^ 

]^ut,  with  a  fuller  regard  for  the  demands  of 
Psychology,  the  most  eminent  modern  expositors  of 
Empiricism  give  prominence  to  the  fact  that  we  are 
able  to  enter,  by  a  fellow-fi,'eling  or  sympathy,  into 
the  pleasures  and  pains  of  others,  making  them  for 

wliile  aninno;  the  ancient  Epicureans  disinterested  friendship  became  a  sort  of 
reli,i,ni)iis  cult.  Alter  speakini;  in  .t;enen)us  terms  of  Epicurus  and  his  follow- 
ers, Cicero  remarks,  '■  Ita  enim  vivunt  (iuidam,  ut  eorum  vita  refellatur  oratio; 
atque  ut  ca'tcri  existiniantur  dicerc  melius  quam  facere.  sic  hi  mihi  videntur 
facere  melius  quam  dicere  "  {De  Fhiibus.  II.  25).  —  It  is  worth  while  to  add, 
that  the  student  should  never  lose  slight  ot  the  distinction,  familiar  in  the 
literature  of  Ethics,  between  sc/f-lovc,  which  is  a  reasonable  regard  tor  our  own 
well-beinj;.  and  .f('//n7};/(\fj,  which  implies  rather  an  unreasonable  disregard  of 
others,  that  is  incompatible  with  true  selt-love. 

\  Of  this  latter  class  of  writers,  the  En.Ljlisii  student  of  Ethics  has  easy 
access  to  one  of  the  most  notorious  ex.imiilis  in  Mandcville's  T/ic  l'\il>/i-  of 
the  Bees ,  or  Private  I'iees,  Pnhlie  Bein/its.  In  this  work,  published  originally 
in  ly  14,  or  rather  in  the  medley  of  dissertations  by  which  its  subsec|uent 
editions  were  enlarged,  and  especially  in  the  Enqn'uy  into  the  Origin  of 
Moral  yirt!te,M  the  apparent  disinterestedness  of  human  life  is  declared  to 
be  in  reality  merely  the  sacrifice  of  one  passion  in  order  to  gratify  another. 
'I'he  particular  passion  which  the  so-called  virtuous  man  is  said  to  gr,.tify,  is 
that  known  variously  as  />ri(fe,  vanity,  honor,  th.it  is,  the  desire  to  win  the 
esteem  of  men  for  actions  which  are  not  only  difficult  but  really  impossible, 
to  human  nature:  so  that,  instead  of  h>pocrisy  being,  according  to  the  well- 
known  saying  of  Rochefoucauld,  a  homage  which  vice  pays  to  virtue,  virtue 
is  itself  rather  a  homage  to  the  i)ower  of  hypocrisy. 


46 


AN    LNTKODUCTIUN    TU   ETHICS. 


the  time  to  a  certain  extent  our  own  ;  and  to  this 
mental  power  is  traced  at  least  that  reL;'ard  for  others 
which  forms  such  a  large  element  in  the  moral  con- 
sciousness. In  fact,  in  one  eminent  instance  the 
influence  of  sympathy  has  been  over-estimated  ;  for 
Adam  Smith,  in  his  "Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments," 
analyzes  every  form  of  moral  consciousness  into  a 
modification  of  sympathy. 

Perhaps  with  a  truer  Psychology  Dr.  ]5ain  is  not 
disposed  to  put  any  rigid  limit  on  the  emotions  which 
may  contribute  to  the  formation  of  the  moral  con- 
sciousness, VcdY  and  love,  anger,  and  a^^sthetic  feel- 
ing", may  all,  he  thinks,  enter  into  its  composition,' 

2.  Put  it  is  admitted,  more  or  less  explicitly,  by 
many  empiricists,  that  all  such  emotional  combina- 
tions would  fail  to  give  to  the  moral  consciousness  its 
peculiar  attribute.  That  attribute  is  traced  rather 
to  the  effect  of  social  organization  upon  our  mental 
development.  This  organization  implies,  for  every 
normal  human  being,  an  education  under  government 
from  the  very  beginning  of  his  existence.  Even  in 
childhood,  while  his  life  is  still  limited  to  the  sphere 
of  the  family,  his  actions  arc  governed  by  the 
authority  of  parents,  guardians,  nurses,  tutors.  As 
soon  as  he  wakens  to  any  consciousness  of  action  at 
all,  he  learns  to  connect  certain  lines  of  conduct  with 
smiles,  caresses,  sweetmeats,  and  other  gifts  of 
delight,  while  the  opposite  lines  of  conduct  are 
connected  with  frowns,  deprivations,  and  positive 
pains  of  various  kinds  ;  in  a  word,  certain  actions  are. 


'  See  Ills  Mental  ami  Moral  Si'itncc,  p.  454  ;  and  compare  Tlit:  Emotions 
and  the  IVi/t,  pp.  277,  27S  (2d  cd,). 


THE   MORAL   CONSCIOUSNESS   AS   COGNITION.       47 

in  the  child's  mind,  associated  with  rewards,  others 
witii  punishments.  As  he  passes  beyond  the  hmits 
of  the  family,  he  finds  in  the  community  by  which 
he  is  surrounded  a  more  or  less  definitely  orL;anized 
custom,  prescribing  a  code  to  be  followed  in  his  con- 
duct, at  the  risk  of  brin<;"inijj  down  upon  him  the 
disapproval  of  offended  opinion,  along  with  all  the 
consequences  which  such  disapprovn.l  entails.  Besides 
this  vague  authority  of  prev^alent  usage,  there  are,  in 
every  community  with  a  germ  of  civilization,  the 
more  e.xact  requirements  of  positive  law.  These, 
being  associated  with  the  whole  power  of  the  com- 
munity to  enforce  obedience,  imply  a  strong  additional 
inducement  to  do  the  actions  commanded,  to  refrain 
from  those  that  are  forbidden. ' 

3.  lu'en  the  influence  of  external  government, 
however,  could  not  afford  a  com[)lete  account  of  the 
moral  consciousness.  At  its  earlier  stages,  in  the 
development  both  of  the  individual  and  of  the  race, 
it  may  remain  submissive  to  the  behests  of  external 
authority  ;  but  at  a  later  stage  it  frees  itself  from 
unquestioning   subjection   to    these,  and    assumes  a 

1  Tlie  import  of  tlic  influence  of  external  government  on  tlie  evolution  of 
the  consciousness  of  moral  obligation  has  been  recognized  to  some  extent  from 
the  very  beginning  of  siieculation  on  tiie  subject.  It  is  implied,  for  example, 
in  the  teaching  of  the  ancient  Sophists,  Cyrenaics,  and  Sceptics,  that  right 
and  wrong  differ  from  one  another,  not  tv  ipiau,  not  in  nature,  i)ut  merely  tV 
K)/jto<  Kat  cOti,  —  in  the  laws  and  customs  of  men*,  for  then  of  course  the  con- 
sciou.sness  of  the  difference  between  right  and  wrong  could  make  its  appear- 
ance only  under  the  influence  of  those  laws  and  customs  which  create  the 
distinction  in  reality.  Hut  it  became  an  essential  part  of  an  ethical  theory, 
probably  for  the  fust  time,  in  the  philosophy  of  lloljbes.  Among  writers  of 
the  present  dav.  Dr.  Bain  gives  it  special  pr(jminence  in  his  I'sychology  of 
ICthics.  See  T/w  Emotions  ami  the  Will,  pp.  2S3-288,  and  Mental  and 
Moral  Science,  j^p  455-45';. 


!!  I 


i  it 


I'. 


¥ 


48 


AN    IXTKUDUCTIOX    TU   LTIIICS 


tone  of  indcpLMKlencc  I  low  is  this  new  departure 
to  be  explained  ?  It  arises,  the  empirieist  would  say, 
from  the  fact,  that  at  a  certain  period  of  mental 
develojiment  the  child  begins  to  exercise  his  intelli- 
gence upon  the  facts  of  life  ;  and  thus  he  omes  to 
learn  that  the  injunctions  of  his  superior^  anel  the 
enactments  of  law  are  not  meaningless  restrictions 
on  his  freedom,  but  have  been  dictated  by  a  reason. 
That  reason  he  will  probably  find  in  the  ii.  tural 
connection  between  his  actions  and  their  effects  upon 
himself  as  well  as  ui)on  others.  This  connection 
implies  that  his  own  well-being  and  tlie  well-being  of 
those  who  form  the  same  community  with  himself 
are  dejiendent,  iiot  only  on  the  private  life  of  each, 
but  also  on  the  conduct  of  all  towards  one  another. 
Every  human  being  tluis  discovers  that,  besides  the 
rewards  and  punishments  of  human  invention,  there 
is  a  system  of  retribution  wrought  out  by  the  unerr- 
ing operation  of  natural  law,  so  that  the  obscurest 
merit  is  sure  of  being  rewarded  by  its  appropriate 
blessing,  and  the  skilfullest  of  crimes  is  unfailingly 
tracked  till  it  bears  the  full  measure  of  its  appointed 
penalty.  When  a  man  has  reached  this  discovery  in 
any  degree,  he  is  no  longer  absolutely  dependent 
U]X)n  the  direction  of  others  for  the  guidance  of  his 
conduct;  he  has  become  "a  law  unto  himself,"  On 
attaining  this  stage  of  develo[)ment,  conscience 
becomes,  to  use  a  phrase  of  Professor  l^ain's,  "an 
imitation  within  ourselves  of  the  government  with- 
out us."  ^ 


1   T/u-  E)iu>tion5  iuui  tlic   Will,  p.  aSj  (2d  ed.).     Compare  Mental  ami 
Moral  Science^  pp.  457,  45S. 


rill':    MORAL   CONSCIOUSNESS    AS   COCNITION.       49 


Lh- 


It  remains  to  add,  that  Emj^iricism  in  Morals,  as 
in  other  departments  of  inquiry,  has,  in  recent  times, 
been  powerfully  influenced  by  the  theory  of  evolu- 
tion. While  the  old  empiricists  maintained  that 
every  individual  comes  into  the  world  with  a  moral 
consciousness  to  be  wholly  developed  within  the 
limits  of  his  own  experience,  out  of  non-moral  ele- 
ments in  his  consciousness  ;  on  the  other  hand,  the 
empirical  evolutionists  of  the  present  day  ridicule 
the  idea  that  the  evolution  of  the  conscience  is  a 
process  vhich  could  possibly  be  completed  within 
the  brief  lifetime  of  an  individual,  and  extend  it, 
accordingly,  over  the  innumerable  generations  of  our 
ancestry.  We,  who  are  the  latest  offspring  of  evo- 
lution, are  born  heirs  to  the  moral  culture  of  all  the 
ages  of  the  past.  Every  individual  who  has  con- 
tributed to  that  culture  has  thereby  introduced  some 
new  refinement  into  his  organization  ;  and  this  more 
highly  refined  organization  has  been  more  or  less 
fully  inherited  by  his  children.  Thus,  each  new 
generation  has  derived  a  more  completely  developed 
moral  organization  from  the  culture  of  those  that 
went  before  ;  and,  accordingly,  now  each  individual,  at 
least  among  the  civilized  races,  comes  into  the  world 
with  a  constitution  adapted  to  receive  moral  impres- 
sions whenever  the  fitting  occasion  presents  itself 
in  experience. 

While  attention  is  drawn  to  the  additioii  which 
the  old  empirical  theories  of  the  moral  consciousness 
have  received  from  the  teachings  of  ICvolutionism,  it 
is,  at  the  same  time,  important  to  bear  in  mind  that 
this  addition  does  not  affect  the  nature  of  the  pro- 


'15 


I 


I  ■ 


,lt 


so 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO  ETHICS. 


cess  by  which  the  moral  consciousness  is  said  to  be 
evolved.  The  addition  docs  indeed  remove  one 
objection  which  was  frequently  urged  against  the 
empirical  theories  of  former  days,  to  the  effect  that 
moral  ideas  and  sentiments  make  their  appearance 
all  too  early  in  the  consciousness  of  the  child,  to 
allow  the  time  necessary  for  the  process  which 
Empiricism  implies.  But,  with  the  removal  of  this 
objectionable  feature,  the  empirical  theory  remains 
in  its  essential  drift  unaltered ;  and  the  problem  of 
Moral  Psychology,  in  reference  to  the  theory,  is  still 
the  same  —  whether  a  moral  consciousness  could 
be  evolved  from  a  non-moral  by  any  such  process  as 
that  described,  whatever  length  of  time  may  be 
allowed  for  its  evolution. 

II.  Empirical  TJicory  rcvicivcd.  —  To  this  problem 
we  must  address  ourselves  now.  Its  solution  requires 
a  clear  conception  of  the  empirical  process  by  which 
the  moral  consciousness  is  alleged  to  be  developed  ; 
and,  consequently,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  summa- 
rize the  above  description  of  the  process  by  recalling 
the  three  stages  of  which  it  consists.  First,  there  is 
an  association  being  continually  formed  and  strength- 
ened between  our  actions  and  the  pleasant  or  painful 
feelings  which  they  entail ;  this  association  forming 
a  powerful  inducement  to  perform  pleasure-giving 
actions,  to  abstain  from  those  that  result  in  pain. 
Then,  at  the  second  stage,  this  inducement  derives  a 
new  character  of  obligation  from  the  authoritative 
commands  of  external  government,  with  the  pun- 
ishments which  that  government  is  accustomed  to 
inflict  for  disobedience.     And,  finally,  this  conscious- 


Till';    MORAL   COXSCIOUSNKSS    AS    CCKIMTIOX. 


51 


;-iving 


ncss  of  obligation  reaches  its  complete  development 
by  attaining  an  insight  into  the  reason  of  external 
commands,  and  thus  enabling  us  to  feel  that  certain 
actions  are  obligatory  for  reasons  which  are  independ- 
ent of  their  being  enforced  by  any  external  power. 

It  is  evident  that  our  problem  centres  upon  the 
second  of  these  three  stages.  On  the  first  and  third 
there  need  be  no  dispute.  As  far  as  the  latter  is 
concerned,  it  is  obvious  that,  if  the  mind  has  once 
attained  the  idea  of  moral  obligation  in  connection 
with  external  authority,  there  can  be  no  difficulty  in 
understanding  how,  by  the  common  process  of 
abstraction,  that  idea  may  be  separated  from  the 
authority  with  which  it  was  originally  associated, 
and  raised  by  this  means  into  an  independent  con- 
sciousness of  obligation  in  the  abstract.  In  like 
manner,  the  first  stage  implies  a  fact  which  is  too 
familiar  to  be  questioned.  That  our  actions  lead  to 
pleasant  or  painful  results,  and  that  they  become 
associated  with  these  results  in  our  minds,  is  a  fact, 
the  ethical  significance  of  which  will  require  to  be 
more  fully  discussed  in  the  sequel.  This  fact,  there- 
fore, is  one  which  must  be  assumed  in  any  theory  of 
the  moral  consciousness.  The  result  of  the  fact  is, 
that,  with  the  mcHTd  consciousness  proper,  there  is 
usually  associated  a  more  or  less  numerous  and  com- 
plicated combination  of  feelings.  In  this  respect 
the  moral  consciousness  is  not  peculiar.  One  of  the 
first  lessons  which  the  student  of  Psychology  is  called 
to  learn,  is  the  fact  that  no  form  of  consciousness 
is  ever  actually  found  in  absolute  separation  from 
others.     For  the   purposes  of   scientific  abstraction 


52 


AN    INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


i;? 


■    if 


us 


\vc  seek  to  isolate  phenomena  from  one  another,  in 
order  that  each  may  be  known  in  its  purity  ;  but,  as 
in  the  material  world,  so  likewise  in  the  mental, 
phenomena  are  always  found  in  some  sort  of  com- 
bination. The  state  of  consciousness  with  which 
we  contemplate  the  moral  facts  of  life  is  no  excep- 
tion to  this  rule.  These  facts  are  capable  of  calling 
forth,  not  merely  ideas  and  feelings  which  are  dis- 
tinctively moral,  but  an  immense  variety  of  other 
ideas  and  feelings  as  well.  Indeed,  it  would  be 
difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  limit  the  kinds  of  feel- 
ing which  may  thus  enter  into  combination  with  the 
moral  consciousnes.s.  Accordingly,  a  certain  color 
mny  be  given  to  the  most  inadequate  theories  of  the 
moral  consciousness,  even  to  those  of  a  revolting 
egoistic  type ;  for  it  is  always  easy  to  show  that,  in 
the  complex  and  imperfect  moral  development  of 
human  nature,  selfish  feelings  often  play  a  conspicu- 
ous part  in  the  adulteration  of  the  moral  sentiments. 
This  is  especially  easy  in  descriptions  of  human 
nature,  which  are  not  restricted  by  the  demands  of 
scientific  exactness  ;  and  it  is  mainly  among  popular 
or  semi-philosophical  essayists,  that  such  objection- 
able ethical  speculation  is  to  be  met. 

But  in  strictness  our  inquiry  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  feelings,  selfish  or  benevolent,  which  may  at 
times  associate  with  the  moral  consciousness.  ]5c- 
yond  the  general  fact  of  their  influence  in  modifying 
that  consciousness,  they  are  of  little  interest  in  a 
scientific  Psychology  of  Ethics,  scarcely  of  any 
interest  in  the  science  of  Psychology  at  all.  Their 
part  is  rather  to  be  found  in  general  literature,  where 


THE   MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS   AS   COGNITION.       53 


they  furnish  rich  material  for  historical  and  dramatic 
portraiture.  It  is  admitted  that,  in  themselves,  they 
form  merely  natural  impulses  to  action  ;  they  do  not 
constitute  a  ;;/^;y7/ consciousness.  Its  differentiating 
characteristic  must  be  sought  elsewhere.  "Although 
prudence  and  sympathy,  and  the  various  emotions 
named,  are  powerful  inducements  to  what  is  right 
in  action,  and  although,  without  these,  right  would 
not  prevail  among  mankind,  yet  they  do  not  stamp 
the  peculiar  attribute  of  rightness.  For  this  we 
must  refer  to  the  institution  of  government,  or 
authority."  ^ 

Wc  are  thus  brought  to  the  real  question  involved 
in  the  empirical  theory.  It  is  asserted  that  the  fact 
of  "  govxTnment,  authority,  law,  obligation,  punish- 
ment," introduces  "an  entirely  distinct  motive,"^  and 
thereby  transmutes  what  was  previously  a  merely 
natural  or  non-moral  consciousness  into  one  distinc- 
tively moral.  Is  this  assertion  based  on  a  true 
analysis  of  the  mental  state  described  "i  Is  the  new 
motive,  derived  from  external  authority,  something 
entirely  distinct  in  its  nature  from  other  motives  of 
a  selfish  or  benevolent  type,  which  are  supposed  to 
prepare  the  mental  soil  for  the  moral  consciousness, 
but  fail  to  produce  the  specific  fruit  of  morality .-' 

In  answering  this  question,  it  must  be  borne  in 
mind  that,  according  to  the  empirical  theory,  ex- 
ternal government  is  not  at  first  associated  with 
ideas  of  moral  obligation,  inasmuch  as  these  ideas 
have  no  existence  till  they  are  developed  by  such 
government.     It  is  absolutely  indispensable  not  to 

1  V>viSx<L%  Mental  and  Moral  Science^  P- 455-  ^  Ibid. 


'\\ 


ii 


I 


i  I 


54 


AN  INTKODUCTIOX   TO   KTHirS. 


lose  si-rht  of  this   lad,   in  order  to   uv  '  jrstand 


and 


estimate  the  em{)irical  theory  ;  for  th^^  idea  of  ^gov- 
ernment is  so  uniformly  and  therefore  indissohibly 
associated  in  our  minds  with  the  idea  of  moral 
authority  on  its  side,  and  the  idea  of  moral  obligation 
on  the  side  of  the  governed,  that  we  find  it  ilifficult 
to  conceive  of  the  two  apart,  and  are  ai)t  to  treat 
them  as  if  they  were  merely  different  phases  of  one 
and  the  same  idea,  or  derivative  one  from  the  other. 
It  is  this  that  gives  a  color  to  tlie  empirical  theory 
which  derives  the  idea  of  moral  obligation  from  that 
of  government  ;  but  if  there  is  any  derivation  in  the 
case  at  all,  it  is  the  idea  of  governmental  authority 
that  is  derived  from  the  idea  of  moral  obligation. 
Without  this  idea  all  that  we  understand  by  govern- 
ment with  its  authority  to  command  is  unintelligible. 
Under  the  analyses  of  lilmpiricism,  the  imperative 
mood  becomes  a  meaningless  form  of  speech,  which 
is  found  on  examination  to  be  a  mere  indicative,  — 
a  mere  declaration  of  empirical  facts ;  and  the 
authority  of  government  is  reduced  to  the  sheer 
physical  power  of  inflicting  threatened  penalties. 
On  this  theory,  therefore,  there  cannot  be  for  human 
thought  any  ideal  ortler  of  morality  different  from 
the  actual  order  of  nature  ;  and  any  so-called  moral 
law,  that  we  ought  to  do  a  certain  action,  that  we 
ought  not  to  do  its  opposite,  is  simply  an  em]:)irieal 
law  of  the  natural  or  i)hysical  type,  to  the  effect  that 
the  latter  action  will,  while  the  former  will  not,  be 
followed  by  some  of  those  pains  which  we  under- 
stand by  the  name  of  penalties  or  punishments. 
In  seeking,  therefore,  to  etluce  the  consciousness 


Till'.    Mol^M,    COXSCIDUSM'.SS    AS    C(  XlNl  IION'. 


55 


and 


of  moral  ()b]i;j;alion  from  the  effect  of  external  com- 
mands upon  the  mind,  it  must  be  kept  in  view  that 
external  commands,  from  whatever  source  they  come, 
must,  on  this  theory,  appear  to  our  consciousness 
simply  as  empirical  facts.  Now,  as  an  empirical 
fact,  a  command  is  merely  a  formal  declaration  that 
certain  actions  will  be  followed  by  certain  penalties. 
This  declaration  will,  by  the  laws  of  our  mental 
nature,  call  forth  feelin<;-s  varyini;  in  kind  and  dcg^rec 
according  to  the  nature  ami  certainty  of  the  penalties 
threatened.  These  feelings  may  be,  now  of  the 
selfish,  now  of  the  disinterested  tyj^e  ;  but  there  is 
no  essential  feature  in  "vhich  thev  can  differ  from  the 
feelings  excited  by  the  prospect  of  other  pains  that 
are  consequent  upon  our  actions.  An  external  com- 
mand, therefore,  cannot  give  us  a  motive  entirely 
distinct  from  the  feelings  which  our  actions  other- 
wise excite.  We  are  still,  in  the  presence  of  govern- 
ment, merely  impelled  by  the  hopes  and  fears,  by  the 
loves  and  hates,  to  which  human  conduct  gives  rise  ; 
we  are  as  far  as  ever  from  the  consciousness  that  an 
action  ought,  or  ought  not,  to  be  done.  I'or  this  con- 
sciousness cannot  be  identified  with  the  mere  knowl- 
edge that  certain  actions  will  bring  upon  us  penalties 
inflicted  by  an  external  government,  anymore  than  it 
can  be  dissolved  into  the  knowledge  that  these  actions 
will  bring  upon  us  penalties  infiicted  by  any  other 
cause.  The  conviction,  that  I  am  under  an  infinite 
obligation  to  do  an  action,  is  not  the  consciousness 
of  any  merely  empirical  fact  in  regard  to  it  at  all ;  it 
is  the  consciousness  of  a  principle  transcending  any 
fact  that  may  occur  in  our  experience  of  the  action. 


If 


I.' 


56  AX    INTKOUUCTIOX  TO    KTIIICS. 

It  mi^^lit  appear  as  if  the  inadequacy  of  the  em- 
pirical tlieory  were  sui)i)lemented  l)y  an  hypothesis 
which  lias  jjlayed  a  somewhat  prominent  part  in 
ethical  antl  theoloj^ical  speculation.  It  might  bo 
urL;-ed,  that,  though  the  consciousness  of  an  infinite 
moral  oblii;ation  could  not  be  explained  by  the  com- 
mands of  a  finite  human  government,  yet  it  might  be 
given  to  us  by  the  commands  of  the  Infinite  Being. 
This  hypothesis,  indeed,  belongs  rather  to  Ethics 
Proper  or  to  Moral  Theology  :  but  it  implies  a  psycho- 
logical theory  with  regard  to  the  source  of  the  moral 
consciousness  ;  for,  obviously,  if  the  commands  and 
prohibitions  of  God  create  the  distinction  between 
right  and  wrong  in  reality,  they  must  also  originate 
the  distinction  in  human  consciousness.^ 

The  additional  plausibility,  which  is  apparently 
given  to  the  empirical  doctrine  by  this  hypothesis, 
is  merely  ai)parent.  This  will  be  evitlent  at  once,  if 
it  is  observed  that  the  hypothesis  gives  no  new 
aspect  to  a  command.  The  Infinite  Being  who  com- 
mands is  supposed  U)  be,  up  to  the  very  moment  of 

The  theory  tliat  right  and  wrong  are  not  scjiarated  in  tlie  nature  of  things, 
hilt  liave  been  distinguislicd  merely  by  tlie  aibitrary  tiat  of  Omnipotence, 
seems  to  iiave  taken  definite  shape  for  the  first  time,  about  tlic  close  of  the 
tliirteenth  century,  in  the  Theology  of  Joannes  Duns  Scotus.  Tiie  name 
most  prominently  associated  with  the  theory,  however,  is  that  of  William 
Occam, a  discijjle  of  Scotus,  wiio  went  far  beyond  his  master  in  tliis  as  well  as 
in  other  points.  It  is  essentially  a  mere  extension  of  tlie  theory  of  llobljes  to 
a  larger  point  of  view ;  and  as  it  is  based  on  the  empirical  conception  of  law, 
it  finds  a  supporter  not  unnaturally  in  a  lawyer  like  Puffcndorf.  Ilobbes's 
theological  Agnosticism,  in  Part  IV.  of  the  I.cviatJiaii.  alnifjst  passes  over 
into  the  doctrine  of  Occam.  An  Absolutism,  like  that  of  Ilobbes  or  that  of 
the  Ultramontanes,  will  find  its  theological  foundation  naturally  in  the  same 
doctrine.  The  doctrine  is  also  apt  to  be  allied  with  a  theistic  Utilitarianism, 
like  I'aley's;  and  it  lurks,  as  an  implied  assumption,  in  many  crude  representa- 
tions of  popular  Theology. 


mc 

am 

as 

to 

|.iw, 

JS'S 

,-er 
of 
me 
.m, 
.ta- 


TIIK   >fOUAL  CONSCIOUSNESS   AS  COGNITION.       57 

the  command,  still  destitute  of  moral  authority  ;  for 
morality  is  to  be  originated  by  that  commaml  itself. 
He  is  simply  a  Being  of  infinite  power,  —  a  Being, 
therefore,  who  can  with  unfailing  certainty  intiict  the 
penalties  He  t'.ireatens  on  a  violation  of  His  com- 
mands. But  His  commands  are  still,  like  the  com- 
mands of  any  human  government,  simply  empirical 
facts  ;  they  are  simply  declarations,  made  known  in 
some  way,  that  certain  actions  will  be  followed  by 
certain  penalties.  The  fact,  that  His  power  is  in- 
finite, and  that  therefore  the  penalties  He  inflicts  are 
infinitely  more  severe  and  certain  than  those  of 
human  governments,  does  not  in  itself,  apart  from  the 
nature  of  His  commands,  create  any  consciousness 
of  moral  obligation  to  obey  them.  The  only  con- 
sciousness which  could  be  evoked  would  be  the  mere 
knowledge  that  an  Infinite  Being  will  inflict  certain 
pains  as  a  result  of  doing  certain  actions,  along  with 
the  concomitant  fear  and  other  emotions  which  such 
knowledge  would  excite. 

It  has  been  maintained  by  some  supporters  of  this 
hypothesis,  that  the  Infinite  Being  might  have  com- 
manded those  actions  which  are  now  wrong,  prohib- 
iting those  which  are  now  right,  and  that  the  result 
would  have  been  that  right  and  wrong  would  be 
reversed.  Language  of  this  drift  is  essentially  mean- 
ingless. As  will  appear  more  clearly  in  the  next  Book, 
virtue  maybe  described  as  the  law  of  life, — as  an 
embodiment  of  those  rules  of  conduct  upon  which 
our  very  life  itself  ultimately  depends.  A  vicious 
action,  therefore,  could  never  be  regarded  as  an  evi- 
dence of  power,  it  is  always  a  proof  of  weakness,  on 


!')l 


I  ■■      k        i>-  i  i   4 

m  m 


f  m^: 


58  AN   INTRODUCTION  TO  ETHICS. 

the  part  of  the  vicious  agent  :  any  being  who  is 
tempted  to  vice  is  either  not  sufficiently  intelligent 
to  know  what  the  forces  are  upon  which  his  existence 
depends,  or  not  sufficiently  powerful  to  control  them. 
Consequently,  to  speak  of  an  Infinite  Ik'ing  tamper- 
ing with  vice  is  to  represent  an  Infinite  Being  as 
finite  in  intelligence  or  power  or  both.  lUit,  in  spite 
of  this  contradiction,  let  it  be  admitted,  for  the  sake 
of  argument,  that  the  conception  is  possible.  Granted 
that  an  Infinite  Being  might  issue  an  unrighteous 
command;  would  that  command  become,  i/so/(n-/o,  to 
our  intelligence  obligatory  }  On  the  contrary,  intel- 
ligence can  assert  itself  against  the  caprice  of  any 
power,  however  immense.  Recognizing  the  essen- 
tially unreasonable  nature  of  the  action  commanded, 
reason  may  refuse  to  obey  the  command,  whatever 
pain  may  follow  disobedience.  In  fact,  (oe  of  the 
sublimest  conceptions  which  human  thought  can 
form,  is  that  of  moral  intelligence  vindicating  its 
supreme  authority  even  in  the  face  of  infinite  power, 
—  a  Prometheus  defying  the  vultures  of  a  malignant 
despot  of  the  universe  by  his  inconquerable  resolu- 
tion to  confer  ui)on  men  the  boon  of  the  arts  which, 
gladden  human  life. 

Si//>si'i/ioii  If. —  Transcoufnital  Tluwy. 
It  thus  appears  that  the  consciousness  of  moral 
obligation  cannot  be  reduced  to  an  experience  of 
non-moral  or  purely  natural  facts  :  it  must  be  sought 
in  some  power  of  consciousness  which  is  not  a  mere 
product  of  the  natural  sequence  of  events.  The 
theory,  which  takes  this  view  of  the  moral  conscious- 


THE   MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS   AS   COCM'l'K  )N. 


59 


ncss,  has  alrc.i  ly  been  spoken  of  as  Transeenclental- 
ism.  It  is  also  sometimes  called  Intuitionalism  or 
Idealism.  This  theory,  like  the  empirical,  is  to  be 
met  with  in  a  variety  of  forms,  these  beinij  distin- 
j;uished  mainly  by  the  mental  power  upon  which  the 
moral  consciousness  is  made  to  depend  ;  some  con- 
necting it  most  prominently  with  the  sensibihty, 
(Hhers  with  the  intellect.  This  difference  may  often 
be  connected  with  differences  of  temperament  ;  for 
the  man  of  keen  sensibility  will  naturally  realize 
more  fully  the  emotional  side  of  the  moral  life,  while 
to  men  of  calmer  or  more  callous  disposition  the 
moral  consciousness  will  appear  most  distinctively 
an  intellectual  act.  l^oth  of  these  types  of  Intuition- 
alism have  received  most  pronounced  representation 
in  ICnglish  ethical  literature. 

The  theory  which  gives  chief  prominence  to  the 
emotional  aspect  of  the  moral  consciousness,  has 
taken  its  most  definite  shape  in  the  doctrine  of  a 
moral  sense.  According  to  this  doctrine,  the  mind  of 
man  is  endowed  \\\\\\  a  sensibility  over  and  above 
that  of  the  bod}-,  and  capable  of  receiving  impres- 
sions from  other  tpialities  than  thtxse  of  matter. 
Beauty,  for  exami)le,  is  a  tpiality,  the  power  of  which 
we  feel  in  c()nsec|uence  of  the  impressions  that  beau- 
tiful objects  produce  upon  a  peculiar  spiritual  sensi- 
bility which,  in  common  language,  is  spoken  of  as 
taste,  in  like  manner  there  is  a  spiritual  sense  which 
is  affected  by  the  moral  (pialities  of  actions  in  the 
same  way  as  the  biMlily  senses  are  affected  by  the 
(.|ualities  of  bodies.  It  is  the  agreeable  imjjression 
which  some  actions   pro(Uice  uixin   this  moral   sense, 


6o 


AN    INTRODUCTION  TO  ETHICS. 


\-f 


that  makes  us  feci  them  to  be  right  or  obligatory, 
while  the  disagreeable  impression  of  other  actions 
makes  us  feel  them  to  be  wrong.  This  theory  was 
first  definitely  taught  by  the  third  Iiarl  of  Shaftes- 
bury in  a  number  of  essays  which  were  subsequently 
collected  under  the  title,  "  Characteristics  of  Men, 
Manners,  Opinions,  Times"  (1716).  The  theory 
was  afterwards  more  fully  expanded  by  Francis 
Ilutcheson,  especially  in  his  "Inquiry  into  the  Origi- 
nal of  Our  Ideas  of  Beauty  and  Virtue"  (1725). 

An  obvious  objection  to  this  theory,  especially 
when  it  claims  to  be  transcendental  or  intuitional, 
is  the  fact  that,  strictly  speaking,  it  makes  the  moral 
consciousness  de})end  on  a  capacity  or  receptivity  of 
the  mind  — a  capacity  of  receiving  impressions  from 
an  outside  source  ;  and  therefore  the  moral  con- 
sciousness could  no  more  be  said  to  be  independent 
of  external  experience  on  this  theory  than  on  any 
other,  —  no  more  independent  of  external  experi- 
ence than  the  sensations  which  are  produced  by  the 
action  of  matter  on  the  bodily  senses.  It  was  per- 
haps to  some  extent  the  feeling  of  this  objection 
that  led  other  transcendental  moralists  to  connect 
the  moral  consciousness  with  the  intellectual  nature. 
According  to  this  theory,  we  are  supposed  to  cog- 
nize the  rightness  and  wrongness  of  actions  by  the 
same  power  by  which  we  learn  that  one  proposition 
is  true  and  another  false.  This  theory,  again,  sepa- 
rates into  a  variety  of  modifications,  according  to 
the  various  qualities  of  action  which  are  regarded 
as  constituting  rightness.  These  varieties,  however, 
being  based  on  an  ethical  rather  than  a  psychological 


THE    MORAL   C()XSCI()US\I;SS    AS    CoCXI'lloX. 


6i 


principle,  will  require  to  be  noticed  more  ])articuhirly 
in  the  next  Book. 

Ikit  even  this  theory  does  not  always  keep  clearly 
in  view  the  fact  that  reason  is  not  merely  the  passive 
recipient  of  ideas  imi)''essed  upon  it  by  the  ajjiency 
of  external  objects.  If  it  were  so,  it  would  be 
merely  one  among-  the  innumerable  i)hen()mena 
which  it  reveals;  and  moral  ideas,  instead  of  beinjjj 
derived  from  a  source  transcendinir  the  order  of 
nature,  would  be  simply  results  produced  by  the 
natural  sequence  of  events.  But  we  have  seen  that 
the  moral  consciousness  cannot  be  interpreted  as  a 
mere  product  of  natural  causation  ;  the  consciousness 
of  what  ouij^ht  to  be  can  never  be  evolved  from  any 
combination  of  consciousnesses  that  refer  merely  to 
what  is.  Instead,  therefore,  of  tracing-  the  moral 
consciousness  to  any  external  cause  acting  either 
upon  the  sensibility  or  upon  the  reason,  our  task  is 
rather  to  see  whether  reason,  by  its  very  function, 
does  not  of  necessity  evolve  a  consciousness  of  moral 
obligation. 

It  was  explained  above, ^  that  the  knowledge  which 
reason  furnishes  may  be  either  speculative  or  prac- 
tical ;  that  is,  it  may  be  sought  either  for  the  mere 
interest  of  the  knowledge  itself,  or  in  the  interest 
of  some  end  which  is  to  be  attained  by  its  applica- 
tion. It  was  also  observed  that  it  is  by  this  practical 
application,  that  knowledge  becomes  a  factor  of  the 
moral  consciousness.  Here,  therefore,  we  lind  the 
function  of  reason,  in  which  the  moral  consciousness 
must  be  involved.     It  is  practical  rather  than  spccu- 

Scc  p.  24, 


■(! 


62 


AN    IXTRUDUCTIOX   TO   KTUICS. 


*| 


l.'itive  reason,  in  other  words,  it  is  reason  as  api)lic(l 
to  tlie  re<^iilation  of  our  aetions,  that  demands  our 
attention  at  present, 

Ikit  liow  does  practical  reason  regulate  our  actions  ? 
It  does  so  by  enabling  us  to  cognize  the  results  they 
may  produce,  and  thus  to  direct  them  with  a  view  to 
their  ])roducing  the  results  cognized.  An  unintelli- 
gent agent  —  an  agent  acting  without  the  guidance 
of  reason  —  does  indeed  produce  results;  but  the 
results  are  simply  produced  without  being  cognized 
or  intended  beforehand  by  the  agent.  It  is  this  fact 
that  constitutes  the  tlistinction  and  the  grandeur  of 
intelligent  agents  as  contrasted  with  the  vastest 
agencies  of  an  unintelligent  force;  and  it  is  this  also, 
as  we  shall  see  by  and  by,  that  forms  the  difference 
between  a  moral  and  a  non-moral  or  purely  natural 
action. 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  reason,  in  regulating  our 
conduct,  acts  in  a  manner  wholly  different  from  that 
of  a  purely  natural  cause  producing  its  natural  effect. 
A  natural  or  non-intelligent  cause  is  itself  deter- 
mined to  causality  by  other  causes  in  its  environment, 
and  therefore  without  any  conscious  direction  by 
itself  :  an  intelligent  agent,  on  the  other  hand,  sets 
consciously  before  himself  the  effect  to  be  })rodueed 
by  his  causation,  and  directs  his  causation  so  as  to 
produce  the  effect  foreseen.  The  action,  therefore, 
of  a  non-intelligent  cause,  is  entirely  aimless,  so  far 
as  itself  is  concerned  ;  it  is  determined,  not  by  any 
law  of  its  own  enactment,  but  by  the  extrinsic  laws 
of  nature.  On  the  other  hand,  in  the  aim  which  an 
intelligent  agent   sets   before   his  consciousness,   he 


Till';  .MoKAi.  c()\s('H)rsxi:ss  as  cocmtiox. 


6 


enacts  a  law  for  the  direction  of  bis  conduct,  and  his 
action  is  j^overned  by  bis  own  le^i^islation.  By  ])re- 
scribing,  therefore,  a  law  for  the  reL;'ulation  of  our 
actions,  reason  does  not  determine  us  to  act   in  the 


same 


way 


as  a  natural  force.      It  docs  not  even  move 


us  in  the  way  in  which  we  are  driven  to  act  by  the 
force  of  any  passion  ;  for  passion  in  itself,  that  is,  as 
divorced  from  reason,  is  simply  a  force  of  nature. 
There  is,  therefore,  a  certain  justification  for  the 
lanf;'uaL;e  of  those  Intuitionalists  who  insist  u\)im 
describinir  moral  obliiration  as  a  fact  s//i  rciicn's, 
incapable  of  beini;  analyzed  into  any  (jther  kind  of 
obli<^ation.  It  is  not  the  compulsion  of  a  physical 
force,  nor  is  it  the  impulse  of  a  mere  fecliuL;'.      Such 


compulsion  or  nnpulse,  it  it  is  to  be  s])oken  of  as 
ol)lii;"ation  at  all,  must  be  described  as  a  purely  natural 
obligation  —  the  influence  of  natural  law;  but  tliis 
is  wholly  distinct  from  the  obligation  of  the  moral 
laws  imposed  upon  us  by  reason.  Their  obligation 
arises  from  the  fact  that  reason  points  to  a  result 
which  may  be  produced  by  our  action.  That  result 
is  prescribed  as  one  that  is  alone  consonant  with  the 


wants  of  a  reasonable  bei 


n 


f^  ' 


but  reason   does   not, 


like  a  n:itural  force,  compel  us  to  obey  or  i)revent  us 
from  disobeying  its  prescriptions.  We  retain  the 
power  to  aim   ;it  any  other  result  ;  we  may  act  as  if 


we  were  not  reason  a 


ble  1 


)ein: 


at  all. 


This,  of  course,  we  should  never  do  if  there  were 
no  motive  power  but  reason  in  us.  Unhappily,  how- 
ever, there  are  influences  in  our  nature  which  are 
perjK'tually  apt  to  darken  the 


li-ht 


of    reason,  ami  to 


oppos 


e    their    fierce   tuiiuod   to    its  calm  sw 


'y 


Tl 


le 


i 


ii:„ 


11 


64 


AN   i.N"ii;ui)L'(  "ri(»\  TO  i:riiics. 


sensibility,  witli  its  passions  of  joy  and  woe,  may  at 
any  moment  counteract  tl-.e  directions  of  reason  ; 
and  the  nature  of  man  becomes  thus  a  battle-field  for 
the  unceasing  strugL;]eof  the  two  antag-onistic  forces, 
—  a  field  on  which  are  foULiht  out  all  the  battles  that 
are  really  decisive  of  human  destiny.  This  struL;\L;-le 
imj)arts  an  imperious  tone  to  the  deliverances  of 
practical  reason,  which  would  be  out  of  place  if  they 
were  not  in  presence  of  an  opposing  force. 

]5ut  not  only  is  there  an  imperious  tone  often 
imparted  to  the  demands  of  reason  by  the  fact  that 
they  are  frequently  called  to  assert  themselves  in_ 
defiance  of  the  clamors  of  sensibility.  We  have 
seen  that  those  demands  appear  in  consciousness  as 
making  an  unconditional  claim  on  our  obedience,  and 
we  have  now  to  inquire  how  it  is  that  they  come  to 
assume  this  character.  Our  inquiry  will  soon  show 
that  the  obligations  of  reason  must  be  conceived  as 
absolute,  whenever  an  appropriate  rule  of  conduct  is 
prescribed.  To  see  this,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind 
that  reason  prescribes  a  rule  for  action  by  pointing 
to  the  result  which  action  is  to  produce.  A  result 
that  is  thus  cognized  beforehand,  as  the  object 
towards  which  an  action  is  directed,  is  commonly 
spoken  of  as  an  cud  (n'Ao,-,  finis).  ]5ut  cognition 
being  a  consciousness  of  relations,  it  is  impossible  to 
cognize  one  end  out  of  relation  to  others.  The  very 
function  of  reason  as  a  power  of  cognition  compels 
us  to  compare  different  ends,  and  to  view  thern  as 
related  to  one  another.  In  this  comparison  there  is 
a  relation  between  different  ends,  that  is  at  once 
obtruded  upon  our  consciousness.     Most  usually  the 


! 


f 


Tiri",    MOI^M,    COXSCIOI'SXI'.SS    AS    t  ■()( ;  MTloX.        65 


L-IC 


imnKiliutc  cud  which  wo  have  in  view  is  not  the 
ultimate  end  ;  it  is  simply  somethin^i;  that  must  be 
done  in  oi-dcr  to  the  production  of  some  ulterior 
result.  Tluis  arises  the  distinction  which  is  com- 
monly exjjresscel  by  callinjj;  our  immediate  ends 
viidus,  while  the  term  cud  itself  is  reserved  iov  those 
results  which  are  to  be  attained  throu^^h  the  aL;ency 
of  such  means.  Reason  thus  reveals  to  us  the  rela- 
tion of  me.ins  to  ends;  that  is  to  say,  it  takes  cog- 
nizance, not  merely  of  the  immediate  end  of  an 
action,  but  of  the  remoter  consequences  which  are 
connected  with  it  by  a  chain  of  causation. 

The  proj;ress  of  reason,  therefore,  in  its  practical 
ai^plications,  is  continually  e.\i)andin!j;  the  scope  of 
our  actions.  lUit  this  enlarirement  of  aim  takes  two 
directions,  —  one  limited  to  the  agent  himself,  another 
affecting  his  fellow-creatures.  The  moment  reason 
begins  to  take  into  view  the  consequences  of  action, 
it  has  entered  upon  a  course  to  which  no  absolute 
limit  can  be  assigned.  As  reason  is  not  satisfied 
with  the  results  which  an  action  produces  at  the 
moment,  so  it  cannot  be  completely  satisfied  with 
purposes  that  refer  to  any  limited  jjcriod  of  life  ;  it 
finds  satisfaction  only  in  purposes  that  embrace  the 
interests  of  life  as  a  whole. 

l)Ut  while  reason  thus  lengthens  the  scope  of  an 
individual's  actions  in  relation  U)  his  own  life,  it  also 
widens  their  scope  in  relation  to  others.  ]\y  the 
very  nature  of  reason,  no  being  can  be  conscious  of 
himself  as  an  isolated  individual ;  he  is  conscious  tliat 
he  is  what  he  is,  in  virtue  of  his  relaticMi  to  other 
persons.     As  a  jiractical  regulator  of  conduct,  there- 


'} 


1 


»';*^:^, 


66 


Ai\  ixiKoDiicrioN  TO  imius. 


fore,  reason  refuses  to  let.  us  l)e  satisfied  with  an  end 
wliich  refers  to  ourselves  alone  as  individuals  ;  it  forces 
others  into  our  rL\t;ard.  lUit  the  same  necessity  of 
reason  compels  us  to  a;o  beyond  any  limited  circle  of 
other  persons,  and  to  embrace  in  our  regard  all  others 
who  can  be  conceived  to  be  affected  by  our  conduct. 

It  thus  api)ears  that  it  is  not  in  accordance  with 
the  claims  of  reason,  that  any  one  moment  or  any 
one  pers(^n  should  alone  be  considered  in  action. 
Reason  finds  sa""'  'fraction  only  in  a  rule  of  conduct 
which  is  of  unive  '  V  i  i;  [)iication, — a  rule  prescrib- 
ing to  the  agent  an  aim  f  ■;•  -^ne  moment  which  is  not 
discordant  with  the  aims  of  any  other,  and  an  aim 
for  himself  which  does  not  conflict  with  the  reason- 
able aims  of  other  persons. 

Now,  it  is  true  that  a  vast  number  —  the  vast 
majority  —  of  actions  are  directed  to  temporary  or 
limited  ends, — ends  the  value  of  which  is  to  be 
found  only  by  reference  to  larger  ends  which  they 
subserve.  The  obligation,  therefore,  which  reason 
imposes  upon  us  to  seek  these  finite  ends,  must  be  a 
finite  ol)ligation.  The  ends  being  themselves  condi- 
tional upon  ulterior  ends,  the  obligation  they  involve 
must  be  conditional  likewise ;  that  is  to  say,  it  is  con- 
ditioned by  the  obligation  of  the  higlier  ends.  Thus, 
if  a  young  man  intends  to  be  a  physician  or  a  law- 
yer, it  becomes  obligatory  upon  him  to  prepare  him- 
self for  the  practice  of  his  profession  by  a  certain 
course  of  professional  study,  l^ut  the  obligation  of 
the  preparatory  study  depends  entirely  on  the  end 
he  has  in  view.  That  end  being  abandoned,  the 
obligation  which  it  entailed  ceases. 


TIIK    MORAL   CONSCForSNKSS    AS   COGNITION'.       6/ 


l^ut  all  the  cuds  of  life,  as  wc  have  seen,  arc  not 
of  this  limited  nature.  On  the  contrary,  reason 
refuses  to  be  c()nii)letely  satisfied  with  such  ;  it  seeks 
an  absolutely  universal  end,  —  an  end  which  shall 
hold  j;'ood  at  all  times  and  for  all  reasonable  beini;s. 
When  reason  discerns  clearly  that  there  must  be 
such  a  suj^reme  end  of  life,  its  j)ractical  injunctions 
are  freed  from  all  the  limitations  which  attach  to  the 
occasional  ends  of  particular  individuals.  The  end 
bein^  one  to  which  every  reasonable  being  is 
directed,  just  because  he  is  reasonable,  there  are  no 
restrictions  by  which  reason  can  limit  the  oblit/  '.ion 
to  seek  this  end.  Although,  therefore,  the  iuj  .ir  • 
tion  of  reason  to  seek  any  temi)orary  end  must 
always  be  of  the  nature  of  a  conditional  command, 
yet  the  injunction  to  seek  the  universal  end  of  rea- 
sonable beings  is  of  necessity  unconditiona  it  is  a 
command  imposed  upon  us  with  absolutely  impera- 
tive obligation.^ 

We  have  thus  reached  the  object  of  our  inquiry. 
The  consciousness  of  an  unconditional  obligation  to 
do  certain  actions  is  seen  to  be  one  of  which  we  can- 
not wholly  divest  ourselves  without  ceasing  to  be 
reasonable  beings  ;  it  is  a  consciousness  involved  in 
the  very  function  of  reason,  —  a  law  imposed  upon 
reason,  not  by  any  external,  non-rational  power,  but 
by  itself.  This  practical  law  is  imposed  upon  men, 
not  in  virtue  of  any  peculiar  modification  which 
reason  receives  in   the    consciousness    of    particular 

1  In  distinj.;uishins  conditional  and  unconditional  commands.  Kant  uses 
language  which,  though  now  familiar  in  philosopliical  literature,  is  unneces- 
sarily sciiolastic.  A  condifioiiijl  noiiutaiul  lie  calls  an  hypothetual  i)nfcrath'e^ 
while  categorical  tmpC) alnc  i.i  tlio  term  used  for  an  unconditional  command. 


'\ 


III 


(•i 


68 


AN   INTKODL'CTION    TO   KTIIICS. 


individuals  ;  it  is  a  law  imposed  by  reason  considered 
simply  as  reason,  by  reason  as  it  is  found  in  all  rea- 
sonable beini^s.  Accordini^ly,  in  minds  of  the  finest 
moral  culture,  the  practical  law,  which  lays  an  uncon- 
ditionally imi)erative  claim  on  our  obedience,  is  often 
accepted  as  a  revelation  in  human  consciousness  of 
the  Universal  Reason,  —  the  leason  that  is  all  through 
the  universe.  This  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  the 
objective  validity  of  such  a  representation ;  that 
question  will  come  uj)  for  discussion  at  another  staple. 
Here  we  are  concernetl  merely  with  the  subjective 
development  of  the  moral  consciousness:  and,  there- 
fore, it  is  sul'ficient  to  observe  that,  as  a  voice  or  word 
is,  in  its  essence,  simi>lya  medium  of  communication 
between  one  mind  and  another,  that  is  not  an  un- 
natural fiL;ure  of  speech  which  describes  conscience 
as  the  voice  or  word  of  God  speakinj;  to  the  soul 
of  man, 

"  Wic  spricht  ciii  Gcist  zuin  aiulcni  (Icist." 


§  2.    The  Consciousness  of  Goodness. 

In  the  former  section  we  were  occupied  solely 
with  that  aspect  of  the  moral  consciousness  in  which 
it  implies  a  conviction  that  certain  actions  ou,ij;ht  or 
ought  not  to  be  done.  ]3ut  this  conviction  does  not, 
on  the  face  of  it,  determine  the  kind  of  actions  to 
which  it  attaches  itself.  It  therefore  remains  a  ques- 
tion, what  are  the  actions  of  which  wc  are  conscious 
that  they  ought  to  be  done  ?  in  other  words,  what  is 
the  quality  which  convinces  us  that  an  action  is 
obligatory .''  This  quality  is  what  we  commonly 
understand  by  such  words  ■c^'s>  goodness  i\\\i\  rightness^ 


ill 


f 


cly 
lich 
or 
<>t, 
to 
■iics- 
ous 
t  is 
is 
>nly 

cSS\ 


THE  MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS    AS   COGNITION.       6() 

while  its  ojiposito  is  distinL;uishcd  as  Inuiniss  or 
zvrofii^iiiss.  Here  it  is  well  to  rejieat  the  caution 
a^^ainst  confounding-  psycholoLjical  and  ethical  ques- 
tions. Our  present  inquiry  is  not  into  the  real  or 
objective  nature  of  {goodness  ;  we  are  simply  seek- 
in:;  to  find  out  what  it  is  that  makes  an  action  appear 
right  to  our  f.v;.,.iciousness. 

When  this  distinction  is  kept  in  view,  it  will  be 
seen  that  the  human  consciousness  presents  an 
infinite  diversity  of  standards  for  determining  the 
moral  cjuality  of  actions.  Not  only  the  literature  of 
our  science,  but  all  literature  dealing  with  human 
life  in  any  of  its  phases,  affords  an  inexhaustible 
fund  of  material  illustrative  of  this  diversity.  ICven 
in  the  ancient  workl,  ethical  sceptics,  seeking  to 
prove  the  unreality  of  the  distinction  between  gooil 
and  evil,  found  the  most  brilliant  illustration  of 
their  theme  in  descriptions  of  the  conflicting  moral 
usages  that  prevailed  among  the  comparatively  few 
peoples  known  to  them  ;  and  in  the  modern  world, 
the  vast  extension  of  knowledge  regarding  every 
various  type  of  civilization  has  brought  an  immense 
addition  to  our  information  about  the  mc^ral  ideas 
and  usages  of  different  races.  Any  work,  dealing 
with  the  origin  and  histtjry  of  civilization,  will  supply 
evidences  of  this  diversity  in  the  moral  convictions 
of  men  ;  in  some  wt)rks  the  evidence  is  accumulated 
usque  ad  nauseam}  Ikit  in  truth,  it  is  not  necessary 
to  go  to  the  resources  of  scientific  or  historical 
literature  for  this  evidence  ;   it  is  accessible  to  every 

1  A  useful  repertory  of  facts  on  tliis  subject  is  The  Evolution  of  Morality, 
by  C.  Staniland  Wake.     London,  1S7S. 


(i  Hi 


70 


AN    iXTkODL'CTIOX   K )    KTHICS. 


individual  in  the  cliaiv^cs  of  liis  own  mental  life,  and 
()l)triided  iipt/n  hini  by  the  most  patent  facts  of  the 
society  in  which  he  moves.  I^'or  there  is  no  subject 
of  private  reflection  or  of  social  discussion  more 
frcfpient  than  the  question  in  regard  to  certain 
actions,   whether  tliey  are  right  or  wrong. 

The  diversity  of  moral  standards  among  men 
may,  therefore,  be  regarded  as  an  admitted  fact.  It 
would,  however,  imply  a  surrender  of  all  scientific 
method,  to  recognize  merely  the  empirical  fact  of 
this  diversity,  without  any  attemj)!  at  an  e.\i)lanation 
of  its  origin.  An  explanation  will  be  found  if  wc 
can  discover  any  law  which  comprehends  all  the 
facts,  giving  them  an  unity  amidst  their  diversity. 
Such  an  unity  is  revealed  in  the  uniform  tendency 
that  characterizes  all  the  various  forms  of  moral 
culture,  and  this  tendency  becomes  clearly  apparent 
in  any  attempt  to  trace  the  course  of  the  moral 
history  of  mankind.  This  history,  indeed,  is  obvi- 
ously one  which  either  it  is  not  yet  possible,  or  it  is 
no  longer  possible,  to  follow  in  all  its  details  ;  that 
is  to  say,  either  science  has  not  yet  collected,  or  it 
has  forever  lost,  the  data  necessary  for  a  full  history. 
Undoubtedly,  the  course  of  moral  progress  has  varied 
greatly  in  different  sections  of  the  race,  new  stages 
of  civilization  being  attained  through  different  chan- 
nels and  under  the  impulse  of  different  events. 
Here  the  stream  of  progress  is  deflected  on  one  side, 
there  on  another ;  at  one  point,  it  may  be  seen  rest- 
ing for  a  while  in  a  clear  pool,  only  to  gush  on  with 
increased  force  ;  elsewhere,  it  is  driven  into  a  stag- 
nant slough,  in  which  its  advance  seems  permanently 


t 


I 


I 


THE   MORA!.  COXSCIOUSNESS    AS   COGXniOX. 


7r 


.'iitly 


I 

i 


arrested.  lUit  every  separate  current  of  human  life, 
thus  created,  is  tendinjj;  in  the  same  direction  ;  anil 
that  direction  has  been  generally  recognized  by  all 
competent  observers.  The  progress  of  moral  culture 
has  been  a  gradual  expansion  of  the  sphere  of  action 
embraced  by  the  consciousness  of  moral  obligation. 

As  long  as  man  is  governed  merely  by  the  natural 
impulses  of  sensibility,  his  life  is  simply  natural, 
determined  by  the  natural  law  of  causation.  lUit 
when  he  acts  from  reason,  he  reflects,  not  on  the 
interests  of  the  present  moment  alone,  but  on  those 
of  his  life  on  the  whole,  and  not  on  himself  alone,  but 
on  others  as  well  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  rises  above  the 
individual  act  and  the  individual  self,  towards  the 
universal  point  of  view.  Practically,  no  man  lives 
a  purely  natural  life  ;  the  state  of  nature  is  a  mere 
fiction  of  speculation.  Assertions,  it  is  true,  are 
sometimes  made  by  travellers  with  regard  to  the 
entire  absence  of  moral  consciousness  in  savage 
tribes  with  which  they  liave  come  into  contact  ;  but 
unqualified  statements  of  this  drift  have  been  fre- 
quently contradicted  by  fuller  information.^  In  the 
hypothetical  state  of  nature,  man  would  be  a  mere 
animal,  non-rational,  non-human.  Man's  moral  life, 
therefore,  is  involved  in  his  humanity  ;  it  begins  with 
the  exercise  of  reason  reflecting  on  his  actions. 

This  reflection,  as  we  have  just  seen,  carries  man 
of  necessity  towards  a  more  general  law  of  conduct ; 

1  A  sin.iL^ula' 'v  pleasing  insta!icc  is  Darwin's  correction  of  liis  fust  inipres- 
siniis  ;uul  stall  lents  with  ii'L;aid  to  the  inlial)itaiits  of  TitTra  do!  l'"uego 
[Diiriviii's  l.'ifc  and  Coircf/'ciiiJciuc,  Vol.  II.  pp.  307,  30S,  Anicr.  cd.).  If  tlie 
si)lLMiilid  iiitfllectu.i'  virtue  of  Darwin  were  more  common,  uiuloubtedly  sucli 
corrcctiuns  would  bo  more  common  too. 


!      h 


72 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


I 


in  other  words,  it  implies  a  i)erpetiial  enlargement  of 
the  moral  ideal  in  relation  to  the  individual  himself 
as  well  as  in  relation  to  others,  that  is,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  egoistic  or  personal  virtues  as  well  as  the 
altruistic  or  social. 

I.  In  the  first  place,  a  rational  self-love  is  called 
into  play,  embracing  within  the  sphere  of  moral  obli- 
gation those  actions  which  are  essential  to  the  well- 
being,  or  even  to  the  very  existence,  of  the  agent 
himself.  Probably  the  earliest  form  in  which  man 
displays  an  intelligent  regard  for  himself  is  in  pro- 
curing the  necessaries  of  life.  Vov  he  does  not  find 
these  at  every  moment  furnished  to  his  hand  by 
nature  ;  he  must  provide  them  for  himself,  and 
pivi'ision  i.T  an  exercise  of  reason  directing  the  con- 
duct of  life,  so  as  to  attain  results  that  are  furcscoi 
in  a  more  or  less  remote  future.  The  reason  of  man, 
however,  cannot  be  long  eonlined  witliin  this  narrow 
range.  It  will  expand  to  that  longer  and  wider 
fo'-esight,  commonly  understood  by  prudence^  which 
embraces  all  the  interests  of  life,  higher  and  lower 
alike;  but  it  need  scarcely  be  observed  \\y^.\. prudoicc 
is  essentially  the  same  word  as  providoicc  or  provision, 
and  denotes  the  same  attitude  of  mind.  It  is  thus 
that  the  way  is  gradually  opened  for  those  person;d 
\'irtucs  which  look  to  the  highest  and  broadest 
culture,  intellectual,  nutral,  and  religious. 

II.  JUit  the  largest  expansion  of  the  moral  con- 
sciousness must  be  ascribed  to  reflection  on  the 
interests  of  others  who  are  affected  by  our  conduct. 
This  reflection,  of  coui^se,  im|)lies  that  we  are  able 
to  place  ourselves   by   sympathy  in    the  position    of 


' 


1 


Tiri".  MORA  I    r-nxsrTf)rs\r,ss  as  ronxiTTox.      73 


I 


others;  and,  llicrclOrc,  tlicrc  is  an  important  truth 
in  the  extreme  theory  of  Achini  Smith,  whieli  ana- 
lyzed conscienee  into  a  mer(.'  modification  of  sym- 
pathy. lUit  sympath}',  it  must  i)e  rememl)ered,  is 
not  a  mere  instinct  of  sensibility  ;  it  is  an  intellectual 
or  ratit)nal  act  as  well  ;  and  the  e.\i)ansion  of  s}nii)athy 
is  dependent  on  the  i^rowth  of  intelligence.^  P'rom 
til  is  moral  sympathy  with  others  arise  at  once  (hs- 
ei'ej)ancies  of  moral  standard  ;  for  immediately  the 
(juestion  i)resents  itself,  How  many  others,  and  what 
others,  shall  be  considered  in  our  actions  .-*  The 
various  divisions  of  human  life  impose  correspond- 
ing linvtations  of  moi\al  view.  Th'^-se  limitations  are 
so  manifold,  that  it  is  impossible  even  to  attempt  an 
exhaustive  description.  Some  of  the  most  imjxjrtant 
will  be  noticed  by  the  way,  in.  sketching  the  advance  of 
moral  consciousness  to  the  standard  with  which  alone 
man  as  a  reasonable  being  can  be  completely  satisfied. 
I.  The  normal  circumstances  of  man's  natural  life 
force  ujxjn  his  reason  the  problems  of  his  relation  to 
oth.ers.  lie  is  of  necessity  member  of  a  community, 
and  his  connection  with  others  is  a  more  prominent 
fact  than  his  isolated  individuality.  This  is  especially 
the  case  in  early  stages  of  civilization.  It  is  only 
with  the  development  of  reason  that  the  full  con- 
sciousness of  selfhooil  is  unfoltled  ;  and  the  most 
trustworthy  researches  into  the  early  conditions  of 
the  human  race  tend  to  prove  that  the  ])rimitive  unit 
of   society  was   not   the  imlividual,   but   the  family.- 

1  Si'c  my  Ilaiidhook  .y/'.ft./.vVni,'.!',  i^]).  .v,i-375. 

2  .'^co  Sir  II.  Miiine's  Ancient  Line,  I'siH'ci.illy  Chapter  v.  '\'W  almve 
statfiiu'iit  will  scarcely  rcriuirc  (lU.ililicaliDn.  iniii  if  iIkj  llicury  of  Sir  II. 
Maine  requires   t>i   he  iih  ilin.l   hy  tiial   of    Mi.  McI  eim.m  {J'niii,\'i:c  A/iu- 


74 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    KTHICS. 


As  this  is  an  association  necessitated  by  nature,  \vc 
find  that  not  only  the  pliysical  arrangements  of 
society,  but  its  moral  and  political  organizations, 
gather  around  the  family.  The  moral  relations  first 
recognized  in  the  history  of  the  race,  as  at  present 
in  the  history  of  the  individual,  are  those  arising 
from  the  natural  relations  of  family  life.  This  en- 
tails peculiarities  of  moral  conception,  as  well  as 
of  legal  enactment,  which  can  be  traced  far  down 
into  the  historical  periods  of  civilization.  The  vast 
authority  with  which,  in  primitive  societies,  the  head 
of  the  family  was  invested,  is  evidently  but  a  first 
attempt  of  reason  to  construct  a  moral  organization 
of  society  on  the  basis  of  the  primary  relationships 
established  by  nature.  One  of  the  most  startling,  as 
well  as  familiar,  survivals  of  this  early  social  organ- 
ization among  the  great  historical  nations,  was  the 
patria  fotcstas  of  the  Romans,  —  an  authority  which 
conferred  uidimited  power,  even  of  life  and  death, 
over  wife  and  children  as  well  as  slaves.  Iri  the 
stage  of  culture  which  develojis  such  an  institution, 
it  can  be  reatlily  understocnl,  that,  while  the  moral 
obligations  of  family  relationship  may  be  felt  and 
observed  witli  devout  exactness,  those  extending 
beyond  the  family  may  often  be  extremely  weak. 

riaf^e).  Mr.  McI-cihi.-im  contends  tli.il.  prim-  to  tlic  institutidii  of  the  laniily, 
there  is  trace  of  a  sta.^c  in  liiinuin  history  when  tiiere  was  ah^olute  promis- 
cuity in  the  intercourse  of  tlie  sexes;  and  wiicn,  tiierefore,  the  ai;,i;re^ation  of 
human  l)ein,i;s  was  founded,  not  on  blood-relationship  (wliicli  could  not  be 
known),  hut  on  some  extrinsic  association,  like  mere  neij^hborhood.  Hut  tlie 
statement  in  the  text  requires  merely  the  ieco,i;nition  of  some  natural  union 
of  human  beinj4s,  as  the  primitive  unit  of  '-ociety  ;  and  cirt.iinly  all  riscndi 
}4oes  to  show  that  kindred  must  lia\e  \v~  w  one  of  llu;  e.irliest,  as  it  is  one  of 
the  most  obvimiN,  b.inds  of  nninn  .niioni;  iin'n. 


TIIK    MORAL   CONSCIOUSNKSS   AS   COGNITION. 


75 


LIS 


2.  The  first  expansion  of  social  organization  seems 
to  have  been  a  mere  enlarj^ement  of  the  family 
model.  It  is  that  which  is  variously  known  as  the 
Greek  yito;  and  (fQui()i((,  the  Roman  ^^''tv/.v,  the  sc/^t  or 
c/d//,  the  village  coniuiuuity.  This  organization  is  found 
under  a  great  variety  of  forms,  and  under  various 
phases  of  civilization,  but  everywhere  it  is  based  on  the 
same  principle,  — the  assumi)tion  of  a  common  origin 
for  all  its  members  ;  it  is,  in  fact,  simply  "  the  family 
extended  by  a  variety  of  fictions,  of  which  the  exact 
nature  is  lost  in  antiquity,"^  l-A'en  when  a  number 
of  clans  are  united  into  a  tribe,  this  wider  organiza- 
tion is  still  apt  to  retain  the  characteristics  of  the 
family.  The  government  is  patriarchal,  the  supreme 
authority  being  vested  in  a  chief,  whose  will  becomes 
an  absolute  law  for  the  guidance  of  the  whole  tribe. 
Here,  however,  the  moral  consciousness  exhibits  a 
decided  advance.  It  is  no  longer  restricted  by  the 
obligations  of  mere  blood-relationship.  Very  often 
customs  prevailing  in  a  tribe  recognize  explicitly  the 
moral  ties  of  a  fictitious  brotherhood  or  filiation  where 
no  natural  relationship  exists.^ 

Still,  the  type  of  morality  developed  at  this  stage 
of  human  i)rogress  is  narrowed  essentially  by  the 
conditions  of  lif"'  to  which  it  is  subject.  It  is  true 
that  very  often  this  moral  tyi)e  has  been  illustrated 
by  an  heroic  disinterestedness,  which  stands  out  in 
conspicuous  relief  against  the  selfish  instincts  of 
nature.  The  incorrui)tible  loyalty  displayed  by 
many  a  semi-savage  to  the  interests  or  his  clan  or 

1  Maine's  Ancient  Laiv.  p.  •i\(^  (Amor.  ccl). 

2  Wake's  Evolution  of  Morality,  N'ol,  1.  pp,  391-393,  143-460. 


^ount  Ailr,on 

Mamorfa* 

Utrary 


n 


m 


S-  i 


f 

I'    i 


76 


A\    LNTRODI-CTIOX    TO    KTIffCS. 


tribe,  may  p(,int  a  tcllin-  reproof  at  the  selfish  coi- 
ruptions  of  ch  ili.-ed  life.  Ihn,  unhappily,  the  narrovv- 
ne.ss  ot  ihe  moral  tyj)e  is  cpiite  as  eoiisiiicuous.  The 
most  loyal  respect  for  tlie  ri-hts  of  a  man's  own  clan 
or  tribe  is  quite  compatible  with  an  utler  disre-ard 
of  all  the  rights  of  others,  and  evenwilh  an  i?tter 
callousness  to  the  requirements  of  any  virtue  that  is 
not  demanded  by  tribal  law. 

{<i)    The  inter-tribal  warfare,  which  i)revails  at  this 
stage  of  human  develoi)ment,  is  commonly  parallcK-d 
by  a  considerable  amount  of  .ir.archy  within  the  tribe 
itself.     The  absence  of  any  central  authoritv,   with 
power  sufficient   to    enforce   the   obligations  'of    the 
different  members  of  the  tribe  to  one  another,  throws 
upon  the  members  themselves  the  defence  of  their 
right.s.      The   result    is    those    blood-feud.s,   to   which 
reference  has  been   made,  between  different  families 
and  clans  in  the  .same  tribe:  and  even  when  ci\iliza- 
tion    has    sufficiently   advanced   to   adopt   a  code  of 
written  law.s,  it    is   not   uncommon   to  find  a  formal 
recognition   of  the  old  right  to  avenge  the  blood  of 
a  kinsman  or  clansman.^ 

In  this  stage  of  social  development  'here  arc  many 
features  which  give  a  peculiar  chaiuc  r  to  the  pre- 
vailing standard  of  morality.  Neighboring  tribes,  as 
we  have  seen,  are  usually  in  a  chronic  state  of  war 
with  one  another,  and  within  the  tribe  there  arc 
often  not  only  transient,  but  hereditary,  feuds  be- 
tween   different    clans    or    even     between    different 

1  The  Ih-l,iTw  l.i\v.s  of  blood  revcn-c  arc  of  course  familiar.  .Sec  especially 
Num.  XXXV..  Deut.  xix.  i-,,,.  |u>h.  xx.  Dut  tho.se  laws  are  i-aralldcd  by 
t^  Si  of  many  another  nation  and  tribe. 


I 


I 


I  ally 
by 


!^ 


THK    MORAL   CONSCIOUSNESS    AS    COGNITION.        'J'J 

families.  The  result  is,  that  the  struf;i;-le  for  bare 
existence  under  such  condi Lions  develops  a  purely 
military  type  of  character;  and  the  moral  ideal, 
which  forms  the  sole  object  of  ambition,  is  composed 
entirely  of  those  sterner  virtues  that  are  essential  tn 
success  in  war.  All  the  gentler  qualities  of  humanit) , 
except  in  relation  to  persons  of  the  same  kindred  oi- 
tribe,  are  apt  to  l)e  i-nored,  if  not  despised.  The 
well-known  descri[)tion  of  tlie  ancient  Thracians,  by 
Herodotus,  portrays  the  moral  culture  of  a  large 
number  of  other  tribes  in  the  modern  as  well  as  in 
the  ancient  world  :  "  To  be  itlle  is  accounted  the 
most  honorable  thing,  and  to  be  a  tiller  of  the  ground 
the  most  (lishom)ral)le.  To  live  by  war  and  plunder 
is,  of  all  things,  the  most  glorious."^  If  in  such  a 
moral  atmosphere  we  find  men  and  women  alike 
cai)able  of  horrid  cruelties  and  frauds,  it  is  not  to  be 
infe  ,ed  that  the  moral  consciousness  approves  of 
cruelty  or  fraud  in  itself.  It  is  simply  a  narrow 
moral  standard,  exalting  tribal  interests  into  the 
supreme  end  of  existence,  thai  seems  to  require  an 
ineradicable  hatretl  towards  tribal  foes  ;  just  as,  under 
a  later  civilization,  the  religious  fanatic  conceives 
himself  to  be  doing  (lod  service  \\\  ])ersecuting,  with 
all  the  cruelties  and  deceits  of  a  refined  ingenuity, 
the  man  who  will  not  assent  to  his  religious  opinions. 
{b)  All  the  conditions  of  such  a  society,  enhancing 
the  value  of  mere  brute  strength  and  brute  courage, 
necessarily  tend  to  a  moral  overestimate  of  the  male 
sex,  and  a  proportional  underestimate  of  the  female. 
It   is  this  that  leads  to  that  degradation  of  women 

1  Herodotus.  V.  fi, 


t'H 


■■.5 


J    ' 


l.i      -  ■ 


I"    '     • 


il 


7.S 


AN    rXTKODUCTTON   TO    ETHICS. 


which  forms  such  a  marked  feature  of  the  defective 
moral  attainments  of  all  early  civilizations.  The 
same  conditions  of  society  render  difficult,  if  not 
impossible,  the  permanent  local  settlement  which 
forms  a  home,  with  all  its  intellectual  and  moral 
iidluences  upon  family  life  ;  and  without  a  permanent 
home  all  the  labors  connected  with  the  rearinir  of  a 
family  become  enormously  increased.  It  is  obviously 
this  cause  that  has  led  to  the  practice  of  infanticide. 
This  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  it  is  almost  always 
the  female  children  that  are  sacrificed,  the  males 
beinp;  considered  of  sufficient  value  to  rej)ay  the 
trouble  of  bringing  them  up.  This  is  further  con- 
firmed by  the  additional  fact,  that  sometimes  other 
considerations  interfere  to  prevent  the  sacrifice,  as, 
i'.  ^q-.,  amon^<;  the  ancient  'Hiracians,  the  Bedouins,  the 
Afghans,  the  Zulus,  as  well  as  many  other  races, 
where  wives  are  obtained  by  purchase  rather  than 
capture,  and  it  becomes  therefore  the  interest  of 
l)arents  to  rear  girls  for  the  sake  (I  the  price  they 
bring  when  soki  as  wives.  All  these  circumstances 
tend  to  disturb  the  natural  relations  of  the  se.xes  in 
such  a  way  as  leads  not  only  to  polyandry  and  other 
abnormal  usages  of  marrietl  life,  but  to  an  absence  of 
any  reasonable  restriction  in  the  intercourse  of  the 
sexes,  which  has  sometimes  induced  the  civilized 
missionary  and  traveller  to  conclude  that  chastity  is 
among  such  peo|)le  a  virtue  wholly  unknown. 

(c)  Othe-  circiimstances  connected  with  earlier 
forms  of  social  or^tanization  tend  also  to  impose 
peculiar  limiiatioiis  on  prevailing  moral  ideas  or  to 
give  them  a  peculiar   bias.     Thus   slavery,  which  is 


'VWV.    MORAL   roN'SCTOUSNI'.SS    AS   COdXITFOX.       /Q 


:cs, 
lan 
of 
icy 

CCS 

in 
icr 
of 
he 
zed 
y  is 

licr 
ose 
to 
i  is 


an  almost  universal  institution  anionj;  uncivilized 
peoples,  excludes  a  lar<;e  |)ortion  of  the  human  race 
from  the  ri<;hts  which  conscience  would  otherwise 
accord.  Then,  a,L;ain,  as  social  usages  are  often 
created  by  moral  ideas,  they  often  react  u])on  these 
also,  retaining;  their  sway  over  the  consciences  of 
men  lonir  after  the  social  circumstances  which  iravc 
rise  to  them  have  passed  away.  The  influence  of 
social  usa<;es  is  often  intensifietl  by  combination  with 
relii^ious  ideas.  I*'or,  unfortunately,  the  history  of 
religion  C(.>ntains  many  a  startling;'  proof  of  its  inllu- 
cncc,  not  only  in  cnlarL^ini;",  but  also  in  crampin^L^  and 
pervertini;",  the  moral  standard.  The  grossest  sens- 
ual excesses  and  the  most  lientlish  cruelties  have 
alike  been  perpetrated  with  the  object  of  courtini.^ 
the  favor  of  some  p;od.  A  strikin^i;  comliination  of  a 
comparatively  hiyh  morality  with  a  hideously  per- 
verted reliL;ious  recpiirement  is  found  in  the  Mexican 
precept  :  "  Clothe  the  naked  and  feed  the  hungry, 
whatever  privations  it  may  cost  thee  ;  for  remember 
their  flesh  is  like  thine,  and  they  are  men  like  thee." 
This  is  immediately  preceded  by  various  ritualistic 
injunctions,  antl  especially  the  injunction,  abovi  all 
t/iuiii's,  to  procure  a  slave  to  sacrijicc  to  tJic  deity} 

{(t)  But  against  all  these  narrowinj^s  and  distor- 
tions of  the  moral  ideal  there  has  been  a  constant 
protest,  not  only  from  the  social  instincts  of  our 
sensibility,  but  also  from  the  demands  of  reason. 
Consequently,  even  in  low  grades  of  civilization,  th':e 
are  to  be  found  not  o\\\y  occasional  outbursts  of 
larger  sentiment,  but  even  established  customs,  hold- 

1  Prcscutt's  Cotttjiicst  of  McxiiO,  Houk  1.  c:li.ii)tci   iii.  note  i6. 


J 

f 


I* 

I 


I. 


M 


80 


AN    I.NTKUDUCTION   TO    HTIIICS. 


in_i(  a  stronpj  K^'^'^^P  f>vcr  the  moral  consciousness, 
which  point  towards  a  law  of  moral  guidance  tran- 
scending the  limitations  of  tribal  life,  and  embracing 
the  common  humanity  of  all  tribes.  One  of  the 
most  interesting  of  these  customs  is  that  of  hosi)i- 
tality,  the  inviolable  obligation  of  which  is  illustrated 
by  many  a  touching  incident  in  the  life  of  savages, 
and  continued  to  intluence  even  the  usages  of  Greek 
and  Roman  civilization. 

Still,  the  narrowing  influence  of  tribal  organization 
Ik  Id  sway  long,  and  it  dies  hard  even  among  the 
peoples  of  modern  Ciiristendom,  With  the  expan- 
sion of  political  life  fiom  the  petty  tribe  into  the 
great  nation,  tlie  i)assions  of  tribal  attachment  have 
evolved  int<'  the  grander  sentiment  of  patriotism. 
Yet  it  is  but  few  who  understand  by  patriotism  a 
grateful  loyalty  to  the  beneficent  institutions  and 
traditions  of  their  own  country,  rather  than  a  i)ug- 
nac'ious  attitude  towards  foreigners.  The  patriotic 
standard  was  almost  the  sole  ideal  of  early  Hellenic 
and  Roman  civilization  ;  and  it  was  oidy  at  a  late 
period,  and  among  minds  of  peculiar  culture,  that 
Hellenic  and  Roman  thought  began  to  rise  above  the 
restrictions  of  that  ideal. 

3.  The  emancipation  of  the  ancient  Pagan  mind 
from  the  moral  fetters  of  mere  nationalism  may  be 
saiil  to  have  begun  with  the  first  direction  of  reflec- 
tive thought  on  the  i)roblems  of  moral  life.  This 
beginning  of  ethical  speculation  must  be  referred 
to  the  long  years  of  comparative  peace  which  the 
Greeks  enjoyed  after  the  great  victory  of  Salamis 
in  480  n.c.     The  student  of  that  period  is  at  once 


nil.    .\H»K.\L   CUXSCIUL'SNKSS    AS   COdXITlON. 


8i 


■m 


'c  the 

mind 
luy  be 
i-ctlcc- 

This 
[erred 
Ih  the 
idamis 

once 


struck  with  numerous  evidences  of  rapid  revohition 
chan;;ing  the  old  order  of  (jreck  hfc,  especially 
in  Athens,  which  became  the  recoL;'ni/ed  centre  of 
intellectual  activity  for  all  the  Greek  states.  It  was 
inevitable  that  durinj;  such  a  revolution  new  moral 
ideas  shoukl  force  their  way  into  men's  thou,;;hts. 
On  the  one  side  there  arose  an  ethical  scepticism, 
professed  by  many  of  the  sophists,  which  denied  for 
moral  laws  any  foundation  in  nature  ;  on  the  other 
side,  there  was  an  effort,  esi)ecially  amon^g  the  follow- 
iivj;  of  Socrates,  to  find  a  deeper  foundation  for 
morality  than  the  mere  authority  t)f  ancient  custom. 
From  both  sides  of  speculation  the  principle  of 
patriotism  as  an  absolute  ideal  received  a  shock  from 
which  it  never  recovered.  It  was  probably  towards 
the  cl(jse  of  the  fifth  or  the  beLrinninL:  of  the  fourth 
century  B.C.,  and  apparently  in  the  Socratic  school, 
that  the  word  xoauonohtti;  1  beL;"an  to  be  used  by 
advanced  thinkers  to  describe  their  relation  to  the 
rest  of  mankind,  whether  as  an  e.\i)ression  of  cynical 
indifference  to  civic  obligations  or  of  a  larger  senti- 
ment of  humanity. 

But  even  in  the  fourth  century  the  two  most  influ- 
ential thinkers  of  the  ancient  world  continued  still 
to  be  influenced  by  Hellenic  prejudices.  Plato's 
ideal  of  a  state  was  evidently  shajied  by  the  most 
contracted  features  in  the  actual  condition  of  Greece. 
IMankind  is  conceived,  even  in  its  ideal  condition,  as 
still  split  up  into  a  number  of  separate  states  maintain- 


1  It  this  wdrd  w.xs  not  used  by 
idea  whicli  it  embodies,  was  loin; 


Socrates  hiinseli,  it  sccins  evident  that  the 
leiueiubered  as  a  lavurite  tiiouglit  of  his. 


See  Ciceiu'b  Tus^.  Disf'.,  1. 


J/ 


•iiul  Airi.ui's  Epictctiis^  1.  <j. 


'i' 


^ 


82 


AN    INTKODrCTloN    To    I.rilKS. 


inj;  an  attitude  of  jicrmancnt  hostility  to  one  another, 
with  |)r()vision  for  the  maintenanee  of  this  attitude 
l)y  the  institution  of  a  permanent  military  caste. 
Still  more  astonishin«;  is  it  to  find  Aristotle,  thoui;h 
he  seemed  to  sympathize  with  the  Macedonian  effort 
to  emhrace  all  the  Greek  states  under  one  <i(^vern- 
ment,  yet  speaking  as  if  the  Greek  owed  no  more 
ohliL^ation  to  the  barbarian  than  to  the  lower  aninuds. 
It  was,  in  fact,  the  <^reat  historical  events  attend- 
ant ui)on  the  career  of  Aristotle's  pupil,  the  Mace- 
donian conqueror,  that  struck  the  most  crushin.i; 
blow  at  the  system  of  Hellenic  nationalism.  At  the 
death  of  Aristotle  the  okl  Hellenic  world,  with  the 
barbaric  world  of  the  I'^ast  against  which  it  IkuI 
fou<;ht  so  loni;,  became  absorbed  in  thi;  Macetlonian 
empire  under  Alexantler  and  his  successors.  The 
moral  ideas  of  ancient  Hellenism  could  not  survive 
such  a  total  ruin  of  the  old  order  in  which  they  had 
taken  their  ()ri[;in.  The  world  outside  of  Greece 
began  to  assert  itself  in  the  literature,  even  of  the 
(jreek  language,  which  had  extended  itself  over  the 
luist  in  the  wake  of  the  Macedonian  conquests.  This 
intrusion  of  a  wider  humanity  was  fostered  by  a  line 
of  thinkers  who  first  appeared  at  the  commencement 
of  the  Macedonian  ascendency,  under  the  ruder 
form  of  Cynics,  but  developed  afterwards  into  the 
nobler  proi)ortions  of  Stoicism.  It  was  fortunate 
that,  among  both  Cynics  and  Stoics,  there  were  men 
like  Antisthenes  and  Diogenes,  Zeno  and  Chry- 
sippus,  who,  if  not  liarbarians,  were  at  least  not  of 
pure  Hellenic  blood,  and  were  therefore  able  to  look 
at  moral  and  social  questions   from  a  standpoint  out- 


I 

! 


'rill.    MokAI.   CONSC'IOUSNKSS    AS    (  ( )( i  \  I  IK  >\. 


)tlicr, 
iUulc 
caste. 

cffDi-t 

)vcrn- 
inorc 

limiils. 

ittcnd- 

Mace- 

ushin^^ 

At  the 

ith  the 

it    IkuI 

xlonian 

L      The 

survive 
cy  had 
ireece 
of  the 
cr  the 
,    This 
■d  hue 
cement 
ruder 
nlo  the 
rtunate 
jre  men 
Chry- 
not  of 
to  look 
int  out- 


m 


S3 


side  of  Ik'llenisni.  It  was  atnoiii;  tlie  Stoics  tliat 
IIk-  duty  of  man  to  man,  without  restriction  by  the 
limitations  of  nationality,  was  first  taught  as  an  inte- 
gral part  of  a  philosophical  system. 

lUit  while  the  Macedonian  cni])ire  was  crumbling 
to  pieces,  the  effect  which  it  bad  produced  upon 
the  old  onkr  of  things  was  bi-ing  intensified  by  a 
stronger  j)ower  of  military  and  political  organization 
which  had  arisen  in  the  West.  During  the  three 
ciiituries  succeeding  the  death  of  Alexander,  the 
Romans  had  gnidually  absorbed  all  the  nations  of 
the  civilized  woild,  and  carried  the  order  of  their 
civilization  even  into  many  of  the  uncivilized  tribes 
by  which  the  civilized  world  was  skirted.  The  fact, 
suggested  by  all  the  hostile  nations  of  anticpiity 
being  thus  brought  under  one  central  go\'ernment, 
was  among  the  most  valuable  lessons  which  the 
course  of  events  can  proclaim  to  the  mind  of  man  ; 
it  indicated  a  possibility  that  the  old  relations  of 
hostility  between  the  nationalities  of  the  world  might 
give  way  before  a  new  order  of  "  peace  on  earth,  and 
good  will  among  men." 

4.  There  was  one  condition  necessary  to  give  its 
full  practical  force  to  this  lesson,  and  thereby  to  in- 
troduce the  renovating  energy  of  a  new  civilizLition. 
Strangely  enough,  but  significantly  enough,  too,  the 
j)ower,  which  was  thus  to  transform  the  young 
empire,  proceeded,  not  from  the  circle  of  brilliant 
soldiers  and  men  of  letters  who  gathered  around  the 
Imperial  City,  nor  from  any  of  the  })hilosoj)hical 
teachers  in  the  intellectual  centres  of  the  ancient 
world,  but  from  a  life  which  passed  unnjticed  by  the 


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AN    INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


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gtcat  world  mainly  in  homely  teachings  and  quiet 
deeds  of  beneficence  in  the  obscure  province  of 
Galilee.  To  the  Stoical  theory  of  a  philanthropy 
which  should  embrace  the  whole  of  mankind,  there 
was  thus  added  the  inspiring  force  of  a  life  sacrificed 
in  the  realization  of  the  theory ;  and  it  was  pro- 
claiinetl  to  the  world,  not  merely  as  the  speculative 
tenet  of  a  philosophical  school,  but  as  an  intensely 
practical  faith,  that  in  the  aims  of  the  moral  life 
there  is  to  be  neither  Jew  nor  Greek,  circumcision 
nor  uncircurncision,  ]?arbarian,  Scythian,  bond  nor 
free,  but  all  men  are  to  be  united  in  the  one  king- 
dom of  God. 

5.  There  was  another  direction  in  which  the  moral 
consciousness  found  freedom  to  expand,  when  extri- 
cated from  the  trammels  of  nationalism.  As  long  as 
the  supreme  object  of  moral  culture  is  supposed  to 
be  virtue  within  the  limits  of  the  state,  the  obliga- 
tions of  life  are  ape  to  be  conceived  merely  in  their 
civic  or  legal  aspect.  In  this  aspect,  however,  as  will 
appear  more  fully  in  the  sequel,  obligation  affects 
merely  the  external  conduct,  and  takes  no  account  of 
the  internal  life,  —  of  the  spirit  by  which  external 
conduct  is  governed.  Virtue  is  tnereforc  understood 
as  s  mply  civic  justice  with  its  negative  enactments 
against  external  injuries,  while  the  higher  virtues, 
which  aim  at  culture  of  the  heart  and  the  doing  of 
positive  good  to  others,  are  cither  entirely  ignored 
or  but  imperfectly  recognized.  But  here,  again,  the 
expansion  of  the  moral  consciousness  may  be  traced 
through  a  similar  course.  With  the  decay  of  the 
moral    prejudices   of    nationalism    a   less    exclusive 


'■'■9 


li 


i 


quiet 
CO  of 
;hropy 

there 
rificed 
,s  pro- 
ulative 
Densely 

ral  lif^ 
-iicision 

lud  nor 
e  king- 

c  moral 
2X1  extri- 
1  long  as 
|)(3sed  to 
obi  i  ga- 
in their 
as  will 
affects 
ount  of 
external 
crstood 
ctments 
virtues, 
;loing  of 
i<rnored 
ain,  the 
e  traced 
of  the 
xclusivc 


THE   MORAL   COXSCIOUSXKSS    AS    COGMTIOX.       S5 

regard  is  paid  to  the  sterner  virtues  of  the  military 
character  and  the  external  ()])ligations  of  civic  life. 
Men  find  in  personal  culture  an  object  worthy  of 
moral  endeavor ;  the  individual  is  regarded  as  of  infi- 
nite worth  in  himself,  apart  from  his  external  rela- 
tions ;  and  this  opens  the  mind  to  the  obligation  of 
virtues  which  are  not  included  in  the  civic  code. 
This  moral  movement,  too,  has  received  its  highest 
expression  in  Christianity,  teaching,  as  it  docs,  that 
the  moral  law  is  fulfilled,  not  by  a  slavish  obedience 
to  rules,  but  by  a  free  spirit ;  not  by  any  rigid  ex- 
ternal observances,  but  by  such  a  moral  inspiration 
of  the  whole  life  as  can  be  properly  described  only  as 
a  new  or  higher  birth. 

We  entered  upon  this  sketch  of  the  development 
of  moral  consciousness  with  the  view  of  showing  its 
uniform  tendency.  We  now  sec  that  all  through  its 
development  the  moral  consciousness  continually 
expands  its  sphere  till  it  brings  every  field  of  human 
conduct  under  its  decisions.  But  this  is  precisely 
what  we  should  expect.  The  moral  consciousness, 
as  explained  in  the  previous  section,  is  practical 
reason,  that  is,  reason  directing  practice,  and  direct- 
ing it  by  an  unconditionally  imperative  command, 
l^ut  what  is  it  that  reason  commands  uncondition- 
ally ?  Not  an  end  which  holds  good  merely  for  a 
particular  period  of  time  or  a  particular  class  of 
individuals.  As  we  have  seen,  practical  reason 
refuses  to  be  comi 


ipletely 


any 


conduct  which  conflicts  with  others,  and  cannot 
therefore  be  of  universal  validity,  just  as  speculative 
reason  cannot  accept  as  truth  any  theory  which  is 


Mli 


llh 

m 


>n 


S6 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO  ETHICS. 


m 


not  in  perfect  harmony  with  all  other  truths.  It  is 
evident,  therefore,  that  the  moral  consciousness, 
in  all  its  manifestations,  must  be  groping,  however 
blindly,  after  a  rule  of  conduct  which  possesses  uni- 
versal validity  ;  and  every  advance  in  the  evolution 
of  that  consciousness  must  be  an  emancipation  from 
restrictions  to  which  it  had  been  previously  subject, 
or,  in  other  words,  an  expansion  of  the  sphere  of 
conduct  which  it  embraces. 

§  3.    T/ic  Consciousness  of  Desert. 

Besides  the  fact  that  an  action  ought  or  ought  not 
to  be  done,  and  the  (^uality  in  an  action  with  which 
this  fact  is  associated,  there  is  another  aspect  which 
moral  actions  present.  In  its  general  form,  this 
as])ect  may  perhaps  be  most  conveniently  expressed 
by  the  term  desert,  though  there  are  many  other 
words,  like  credit,  rezuard,  recompense^  meed,  guerdon, 
compensation,  requital,  retribution,  amends,  atonement, 
which  convey  more  or  less  clearly  the  same  idea. 
The  opposite  sides,  also,  of  the  idea  are  denoted  by 
a  variety  of  familiar  expressions  :  merit,  ivorth,  ivor- 
tJiy,  praisewortJiy,  commendable,  on  the  one  hand ; 
demerit,  ill-desert,  guilt,  blameivorthy,  culpable,  censur- 
able, repreJiensible,  objectionable,  on  the  other.  It  is 
the  cognition  expressed  in  such  terms,  that  we  are 
now  called  to  investigate. 

At  the  outset  it  is  evident  that  desert  points  to 
something  that  follows  action  :  merit  anticipates 
reward ;  demerit  or  guilt,  punishment.  Now,  some 
consequents  of  action  are  jnircly  natural ;  they  are 
effects  brought  about  by  the  forces  of  nature  without 


TIIK    M()RAr,   COXSCIOUSNESS    AS    ('(  )(;M|-[()\-.        8/ 


reference  to  the  moral  character  of  the  actions  which 
they  follow.  Thus,  a  bout  of  drunkenness  will  pro- 
duce indigestion,  headache,  nervous  depression  :  but 
these  results  depend  upon  the  physical  action  of  the 
excess  ;  and  consequently  they  are  often  produced  by 
other  physical  causes,  over  which  the  sufferer  may 
have  no  moral  control.  In  like  manner,  the  virtue  of 
thrift,  unless  counteracted  by  other  causes,  will  lead 
to  an  accumulation  of  wealth  ;  but  it  is  not  the  sole 
road  to  this  end.  The  laws  of  inheritance,  a  turn  of 
the  dice,  a  caprice  of  fashion,  or  some  other  accident, 
causing  an  increased  demand  for  certain  commodities, 
and  a  consequent  enhancement  of  their  price,  — these 
and  other  natural  events  often  pour  wealth  into  a 
man's  lap  without  the  slightest  regard  to  his  moral 
character. 

But  when  results  are  viewed  as  following  upon  an 
action  merely  by  natural  causation,  they  are  not 
rewards  or  muiishments  in  the  strict  sense  of  these 
terms.  To  be  such,  they  must  be  viewed  a:  depend- 
ent on  the  voluntary  act  of  the  agent.  The  con- 
sciousness, tnerefore,  of  desert  implies  that  acts  are 
connected  with  their  consequences,  not  merely  by 
natural,  but  by  moral  law  ;  in  other  words,  that,  over 
and  above  the  physical  or  natural  government,  there 
is  also  a  moral  government  of  the  world. 

There  is  another  fact  connected  with  this  con- 
sciousness, which  also  deserves  attention.  In  natural 
causation  there  is  a  definite  proportion  between  cause 
and  effect,  which  has  received  exact  expression  in  the 
modern  physical  doctrine  of  the  correlation  of  forces. 
So,  too,  in  moral  causation,  merit  and  guilt  are  corrc- 


1^1 


i.i 


I  ( 


iHi 


.  i 


I 

,1 

I'   If 


i 


88 


AX    TXTRODUCTION   TO    I'TIIICS. 


latcd  to  the  moral  qualities  of  actions  ;  or,  to  put  it 
more  exactly,  there  is  a  definite  proportion  between 
the  moral  reward  or  punishment  of  an  action,  and  the 
merit  or  demerit  by  whieli  it  is  eliaraeterized.  This 
fact  is  sometimes  lost  sight  of  in  the  subtleties  of 
philosophical  and  theological  speculation,  which  have 
attempted  to  identify  on  various  grounds  all  degrees 
of  guilt.  ])Ut  the  correspondence  between  moral 
action  and  its  deserts  is  too  clear  to  the  common 
sense  of  mankind,  to  admit  of  its  being  permanently 
ignored.  Criminal  jurisprudence  has  in  fact  generally 
proceeded  on  the  assumption  of  this  correspondence. 
The  early  history  of  law  especially  furnishes  some 
quaintly  elaborate  attempts  to  specify  the  different 
amounts  of  penalty  which  should  be  apportioned  to 
different  degrees  of  crime;  and  in  our  day  the  moral 
correspondence  is  only  the  more  clearly  recognized 
by  the  fact,  that  now  legislation  generally  shrinks 
from  the  practical  problem  of  determining  the  differ- 
ent degrees  of  guilt  that  may  attach  to  different 
offences  which  come  under  the  same  technical  defini- 
tion, and  leaves  a  wide  discrimination  of  penalties  to 
the  discretion  of  criminal  courts.^ 

An  additional  fact  connected  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  desert  is  the  diversity  by  which  it  is  charac- 
terized. In  this  respect  it  resembles  the  other  facts 
of  moral  cognition  which  have  been  already  discussed, 
and  the  diversity  may  be  traced  through  a  similar 
history.  The  history  cannot  of  course  be  followed 
in  all  its  details  ;  but  its  general  outlines  are  not 
diflficult  to  discover,  and  they  furnish  an  explanation 

1  Maine  s  A>uic)it  Law,  pp.  365-36S  (Anicr.  cd.). 


put  it 
itwccn 
nd  the 
This 
tics  of 
h  have 
cgrces 
moral 
)mmon 
Liicntly 
nerally 
idencc. 
s  some 
[ffcrcnt 
mcd  to 
3  moral 
)£^nizcd 
irinks 
diffcr- 
■crcnt 
dcfini- 
ties  to 

scioiis- 
harac- 
r  facts 
:usscd, 
similar 
llowcd 
re  not 
nation 


5 


TlIK   MORAL  CONSCIOUSiXESS   AS   COGNITION.       89 

of  the  consciousness  whose  development  they  indi- 
cate. It  is  evident  that  this  development  must 
depend  on  the  conception  of  real  merit  and  guilt  on 
the  one  hand,  of  real  reward  and  punishment  on  the 
other. 

I.  The  educated  mind  of  the  present  day  has  no 
difficulty  in  realizing  that  merit  and  guilt  can  attach 
only  to  intentional  acts,  that  is,  to  acts  which  are  in 
the  strictest  sense  moral,  as  being  within  the  com- 
plete control  of  the  will.  But  to  understand  the 
evolution  of  this  phase  of  moral  consciousness,  we 
must  carry  ourselves  back  to  stages  of  civilization 
at  which  this  sharpl}  defined  conception  of  merit  and 
guilt  was  still  far  from  being  attained.  The  concep- 
tion was  then  confused  ;  and  the  confusion  has  gen- 
erally arisen  from  the  fact,  that  real  desert,  like 
everything  else  in  the  world,  forms  associations  which 
are  apt  to  become  essentially  connected  with  it  in 
the  mind  of  the  indistinct  thinker. 

I.  In  the  life  of  the  aornt  himself  there  arc  often 
incidents  associated  with  his  action,  —  at  times  even 
causally  connected  with  it,  —  which,  yet,  cannot  be 
considered  as  forming  an  integral  part  of  the  moral 
action  itself,  for  which  alone  he  is  to  be  held 
responsible.  For  example,  the  agent  may  be  igno- 
rant of  certain  facts,  such  as  his  relation  to  the  per- 
sons concerned,  which  render  his  action  wrong  in  its 
outward  or  legal  aspect,  although,  having  been  done 
without  any  knowledge  of  the  facts,  it  is  in  its 
intrinsic  moral  aspect  blameless.  Such  an  action 
may  properly  excite  the  natural  feeling  of  regret, 
even  in  its  keenest  bitterness ;  but  only  a  confusion 


'iH 


v\\\ 


1,1 


90 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    1;TIIICS. 


of  moral  coirnition  can  allow  it  to  excite  the  dis- 
tinctively  moral  feeling  of  remorse.  Yet,  a  rude 
moral  culture  furnishes  numerous  instances  of  this 
confusion.  In  early  Greek  life  some  of  the  mythical 
tragedies,  like  that  of  CEdipus,  afford  a  memorable 
proof  of  the  fact,  that  the  mental  condition  repre- 
sented by  such  myths  had  yet  but  imperfectly  dis- 
criminated between  the  guilt  of  the  intentional  wrong- 
doer and  the  pitiable  misfortune  of  the  man  who  falls 
unwittingly  into  a  transgression  of  law. 

Again,  it  frequently  happens  that  an  action  is  fol- 
lowed by  results  which  the  agent  never  intended,  and 
could  not  possibly  have  foreseen.  Now,  obviously 
our  readiest  judgment  regarding  an  action  is  founded 
on  its  most  obtrusive  feature  ;  that  is,  of  course,  its 
overt  result.  It  is  only  a  later  reflection  that  sepa- 
rates the  external  fact  from  its  internal  motive  ;  and 
men's    iudiiments  with   regard    to    their  fellows  are 

JO  o 

continually  led  astray,  either  by  ascribing  an  unhappy 
accident  to  an  evil  intention,  or  by  failing  to  detect 
such  an  intention  under  the  mask  of  a  harmless  or 
beneficent  act. 

To  take  another  case,  a  man  may  be  the  unhapj^y 
victim  of  some  jnirely  natural  impulse  derived  eitlier 
from  tlie  constitution  which  he  has  inherited  or  froiii 
some  other  source  beyond  his  control.  Persons  of 
quick  natural  sensibility  are  in  general  much  more 
liable  than  others  to  be  carried  away  at  any  moment 
by  emotional  storms  of  all  sorts.  There  are  also 
peculiar  hereditary  taints,  like  the  alcoholic  mania, 
which  amount  to  practical  insanity,  rcndciing  the 
victim  for  the  moment  morally  irresponsible.     In  such 


TIIK    MORAI,   COXSCIOUSXKSS    AS   C(  )f;N  ITIOX.       QI 

cases  it  is  necessary  to  avoid  attributing;  to  deliberate 
intention  actions  which  result  rather  from  some  over- 
powerinj;  passion  excited  by  a  tyrannous  irritability 
of  natUx^      In  our  estimate  of  human  conduct, 

"  What's  done  we  partly  may  compute, 
l!ut  know  not  what's  resisted." 

2.  A  Still  more  <:,darin<;  confusion  of  the  same  sort 
is  exhibited  when  desert  is  extended  to  of//i'r  pcrsois 
])esides  the  agent  whose  conduct  forms  the  subject 
of  judgment.  This  confusion  may  probably  have 
been  suggested  by  the  fact,  that,  owing  to  the  organic 
unity  of  mankind,  relatives,  comrades,  and  other  per- 
sons are  more  or  less  involved  in  the  Jiatural  effects 
of  any  man's  action  ;  but  the  illusion  which  clothes 
any  jierson  with  the  moral  desert  of  another  has  led 
to  some  of  the  most  flagrant  perversions  of  justice. 
This  illusion  has  been  frequently  exhibited  in  those 
tragedies  which  have  overwhelmed  in  the  same  con- 
demnation  innocent  persons  who  had  the  misfortune 
to  be  connected  with  guilty  men  by  kindred  or  even 
by  some  slighter  association.  Jurisprudence  itself 
has,  with  a  barbarous  confusion  of  justice,  sometimes 
involved  in  his  punishment  the  whole  family  of  an 
offender,  if  not  also  his  remoter  relatives.^  A  similar 
confusion  of  justice  may  be  traced  in  the  cruel  war- 
fare of  former  times,  which,  instead  of  confining  its 
ravages  to  the  responsible  combatants,  put  to  the 
sword  all  the  inhabitants  of  a  hostile  town  or  country, 
or  carried  off  those  who  were  spared  into  slavery. 

1  The  Book  of  Esther  furnishes,  in  tlic  slar.c;htcr  of  Haman  and  his  sons, 
a  well-known  illustration,  which  is  merely  a  tvpc  of  the  treatment  the  Jews 
themselves  might  iiavc  received  at  the  hands  of  the  I'crsians. 


\\\\ 


■  |i 


m 


I  a 


92 


AN    IXTR(.)I)UCTIOX  TO   KTIIICS. 


m 


I 


But  at  no  sta^c  of  moral  development  is  there  a 
complete  failure  to  diseriminate  between  the  moral 
desert  and  the  purely  natural  aspects  of  conduct. 
Ev?n  in  extremely  savai^e  tribes  a  ri^^dd  and  elaborate 
(lisci])line  is  commonly  enforced  for  the  purpose  of 
cducatini^  those  virtues  which  are  found  to  be  most 
useful  to  the  tribe ;  and  th()U;i;h  these  may  form  l)ut 
a  rude  representation  of  morality,  yet  their  culture 
implies  a  certain  reco^niition  of  their  worth  or  merit. 
ICven  law,  though  it  does  not  represent  the  highest 
moral  conceptions  of  the  society  which  it  regulates, 
must  have  recognized  at  an  early  period  the  necessity 
of  taking  into  consideration  the  motives  of  action  in 
order  to  pronounce  a  just  judgment  on  its  character. 
This  recognition  is  peculiarly  marked  in  the  ancient 
Hebrew  provision  to  protect  from  the  avenger  of 
blood  the  slayer  who  kills  "at  unawares,  without 
enmity,  without  laying  of  wait."  ^ 

II.  But  the  development  of  the  conception  of 
desert  has  also  been  retarded  by  indistinct  ideas  of 
what  constitutes  the  real  reward  and  punishment 
of  moral  actions.  While  it  is  probably  evident  to 
most  minds  of  ordinary  intelligence  at  the  present 
day,  that  merit  and  guilt  attach  only  to  the  moral 
character  of  actions,  it  can  scarcely  be  said  to  be  so 
generally  evident  that  the  true  reward  and  punish- 
ment of  moral  action  cannot  be  anything  extrinsic 
to  morality.  The  rewards  or  goods  of  life  must  be 
for  every  man  whatever  is  for  him  most  desirable ; 
the  punishments  or  evils,  whatever  is  most  undesirable. 

1  Sec  above,  p.  76,  note.  Similar  provisions  existed  in  many  other  coun- 
tries in  early  times.  Athenian  law  appears,  at  an  early  period,  to  have  drawn 
tiic  distinction  explicitly  between  fdvoi  tnulaioi  and  (/iJcoj  liwiifiof. 


I 


Till:   MORAL    CON'SCIOUSNI'.SS    AS    C()(iMri()\. 


93 


lUit  whut  is  desirable  must  of  course  for  all  men  be 
determined  by  the  nature  of  tlie  desires  which  have 
been  evoked  in  them  by  their  individual  culture 
engrafted  upon  the  general  civilization  in  which  they 
have  grown  u[).  As  these  desires  differ  enormously 
at  tlifferent  stages  of  human  develoi)ment,  the  con- 
ceptions of  reward  and  punishment  which  have 
prevailed  among  men  exhibit  a  corresponding  diver- 
sity. An  illustration  of  this  general  fact  may  be 
found  in  the  variously  colored  pictures  of  the  heaven 
and.  hell  to  which  the  diverse  L'"enerations  of  men 
have  looked  forward  as  the  reward  or  punishment  of 
earthly  life.  The  heaven  of  all  races  and  of  all 
individuals  is  essentially  a  i)rolongation  of  the  life 
which  on   earth    has    been    reirarded   as    the  fullest 


'!-)'• 


gratification  of  the  best  desires. 

As  long  as  the  struggle  for  bare  existence  absorbs 
the  entire  energies  of  men,  as  it  almost  always  does 
in  the  savage  state,  the  rewards  of  life  are  simply 
those  external  goods  which  relieve  in  any  degree  the 
hardships  and  horrors  of  that  struggle.  Abundance 
of  food,  obtained  by  success  in  the  chase  or  by  free- 
dom from  blighted  crops  and  murrain  among  cattle, 
victory  over  enemies,  revenge  against  injurers, — 
such  are  the  ideals  by  which  uncivilized  man  hopes 
to  get  merit  rewarded.  All  through  the  history  of 
the  imperfect  civilization  wdiich  man  has  as  yet 
attained,  a  similarly  inadequate  conception  may  be 
traced.  It  is  the  goods  of  physical  life  that  are 
thought  of  as  the  rewards  of  moral  goodness  ;  it  is 
material  disaster  that  is  held  up  as  a  warning  penalty 
of    vice.     This    has    orijrinated   two   illusions  which 


m 


m 


'Ill 


fii 

IT  Fl 


H 


I 


m 


ilj 


94 


A\    IMKODUCTION    TO    Klllie.'S. 


have  sometimes  presented  the  fallacious  reasonin^^s 
of  the  human  mind  in  a  comic  aspect,  but  have  also 
not  infrecjuently  led  to  appallin.i;  trai;edies. 

I.  An  illusory  belief  is  created,  that  temporal 
calamities  necessarily  imply  some  j;uilt  on  the  part 
of  thi'  sufferer.  If  a  calamity  cannot  be  obviously 
coiuu'cted  by  natural  law  with  any  individual  misdeed, 
it  is  often  attributed  to  the  direct  a<j;ency  of  some 
offended  [;;od  ;  and  relij;'ion  or  superstition  plies  its 
ruile  devices  for  penetrating];  the  secret  of  the  divine 
counsels  in  order  to  find  out  the  cause  of  offence. 
From  this  have  arisen  those  cruel  ex[)iatory  sacrifices 
in  which  the  terrified  imaL;inatioj"i  has  endeavored  to 
appease  an  angry  deity  by  offering  the  fairest  victims 
and  the  bloodiest  rites,  \\vcn  in  the  latest  years  of 
ancient  I'aganism  this  su[)erstitious  association  of 
calamity  with  divine  anger  occasionally  burst  out  in  a 
tragic  form.  For  some  of  the  persecutions  of  the  early 
Church  were  connected  with  contemporary  calamities 
which  the  Pagan  mind  ascribed  to  the  wrath  of  the 
gods  at  the  Christians  who  denied  their  existence. 
Unfortunately  the  superstition  survived  in  Christen- 
dom ;  and  in  several  instances  great  calamities,  like 
the  plague  of  the  fourteenth  century,  were  ascribed 
to  the  anger  of  God  at  the  sins  of  men,  —  an  anger 
which  the  people  sought  to  appease,  not  by  moral 
reformation,  but  either  by  horrid  self-torture  as  in 
the  case  of  the  Flagellants,  or  by  the  still  more 
horrid  torture  and  massacre  of  the  obnoxious  but 
unoffending  Jews.^ 

1  A  Iianowing  picture  of  these  mental  and  moral  effects  of  the  Black 
Death  is  ^'iveii  by  llecker  in  E/'idvinics  of  the  Middle  Ages,  No.  I.  chapter  v. 
(Kng.  trans.). 


I 

« 


'Ilii;    M(»KAI,   i;()\SCI()USNhSS    AS   (JUli.M  I'lUN.       95 

The  superstition  infects  even  literary  art,  produ- 
cinir  the  nunieroiis  fictions  with  a  movixl  after  the 
type  of  Richarclsr»n's  "  Pamela,  or  Virtue  rewarded," 
or  of  Defoe's  "Molly  Inlanders,"  in  which  its  author 
declared,  "There  is  not  a  wicked  action  in  any  |)art 
but  is  first  or  last  rendered  unhai)py  or  unfortunate." 
I'A'en  at  the  present  day,  amoni;  fairly  educated  men, 
it  is  not  uncommon  to  meet  with  i)ijrs()ns  who  arro- 
i^ate  to  themselves  a  minute  actjuaintance  with  the 
details  of  the  Divine  Government  by  pronouncing; 
any  petty  misfortune  to  be  a  "judLjment  of  God" 
against  the  sufferer. 

2.  In  these  moral  fallacies,  however,  there  is  often 
involved  another  illusion  which  follows  the  hypothet- 
ical association  between  moral  desert  and  material 
retribution  in  the  opposite  direction,  —  not  from  real 
calamity  to  hypothetical  guilt,  but  from  real  guilt  to 
hypothetical  calamity.  This  illusion  could  not  be 
more  vividly  illustrated  than  in  the  practice  of  trial 
by  ordeal,  which  has  prevailed  under  many  different 
systems  ot  civilization, — a  practice  obviously  based 
on  the  conviction  that  the  laws  of  the  universe,  if 
not  by  their  j^i'/icra/,  yet  by  some  sj'^ccia!  operation, 
will  connect  guilt  or  innocence  with  an  appropriate 
physical  retribution.  A  similar  remark  applies  to 
another  feature  of  mediaeval  jurisprudence,  —  the 
judicial  combat,  of  which  a  survival  has  continued 
lo  our  own  day  in  the  slowly  dying  practice  of 
duelling. 

]?oth  these  forms  of  trial  implied  an  obscure  con- 
viction that,  if  guilt  is  not  obviously  discovered  by 
natural   law,  it  will   be  tracked   unerringly  by  some 


- 1 


'I'  I 


;l 


fh 


96 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    I'TllICS. 


supernatural  agency.  This  conviction  becomes  more 
explicit  in  the  fiction  of  divine  or  semi-divine  person- 
ages, whose  special  function  it  is  to  superintend  the 
righteous  requital  of  human  deeds.  Perhaps  the 
most  primitive  form  of  this  fancy  is  one  for  which 
there  is  an  obvious  psychological  explanation,  —  the 
ghost  of  a  victim  haunting  the  man  by  whom  he  was 
murdered  or  otherwise  wronged.  The  Nemesis  and 
ICrinnyes  of  Greek,  the  Furies  of  Latin,  mythology, 
are  of  course  familiar  from  their  frequent  introduc- 
tion as  figures  of  modern  language  ;  but  nearly  all 
mythologies  are  enriched  with  fictitious  beings,  to 
whom  a  similar  function,  though  it  may  be  a  less 
artistic  form,  is  ascribed. 

In  general  also  polytheistic  religions  indicate  some 
grasp  of  the  truth,  that  all  wrong  is  a  violation  of 
divine  law,  by  representing  different  wrongs,  accord- 
ing to  their  nature,  as  offences  against  particular 
deities.  This  representation  has  even  affected  the 
criminal  jurispiudcnce  of  primitive  ages,  in  which 
crimes  are  often  conceived  as  s'uis,  and  punished  as 
offences  not  against  the  state,  but  against  the  gods. 
"At  the  very  core  of  the  Latin  religion,"  says 
Mommsen,  "lay  that  profound  moral  impulse  which 
leads  men  to  bring  earthly  guilt  and  earthly  punish- 
ment into  relation  with  the  world  of  the  gods,  and  to 
view  the  former  as  a  crime  against  the  gods,  and  the 
latter  as  its  expiation.  The  execution  of  the  crimi- 
nal condemned  to  death  was  as  much  an  expiatory 
sacrifice  offered  to  the  divinity  as  the  killing  of  an 
enemy  in  just  war;  the  thief  who  by  night  stole  the 
fruits  of  the  field,  paid  the  penalty  to  Ceres  on  the 


TIIK    MORAI,    CONSCIOUSNKSS    AS   COCXirK^N.       97 


J  more 
)erbon- 

[k1  the 
:)s   the 

L 

which 
,  —  the 
he  was 
sis  and 
hology, 
.troduc- 
larly  all 
ngs,  to 
:  a  less 

te  some 
at  ion  of 
accord- 
rticular 
tod  the 
which 
shed  as 
te  gods. 
'    says 
le  wdiich 
punish- 
I,  and  to 
land  the 
crimi- 
:piatory 
of  an 
;ole  the 
on  the 


gallows,  just   as  the   enemy  paid   it  to  mother  earth 
and  the  good  spirits  on  the  field  of  hattle."  ^ 

From  these  facts  it  must  be  evident  that  the  con- 
ception of  desert  forms  one  of  the  most  potent 
factors  of  the  moral  .  onsciousness ;  and,  however 
capricious  the  various  forms  of  the  conception  may 
appear,  it  is  also  evident  that  they  must  follow  the 
course  through  wliich  the  development  of  the  moral 
consciousness  has  been  already  traced  in  the  two 
preceding  sections.  Reason  can  never  regard  as  the 
real  requital  of  moral  desert  any  extrinsic  result 
wdiich  happens  to  follow  from  an  action  without 
reference  to  its  moral  character.  The  real  retribu- 
tion of  an  action  must  be  its  unfailing  result,  and  its 
only  unfailing  result  is  one  that  is  determined  by  its 
intrinsic  nature,  that  is,  its  morality.  It  is  not  diffi- 
cult, therefore,  to  see  the  direction  in  which  the  con- 
ception of  moral  retribution  must  be  developed.  It 
must  tend  to  attach  itself  ever  more  clearly  to  those 
rewards  and  punishments  wdiich  flow,  not  from  the 
peculiar  accidents  of  any  particular  action,  but  from 
the  morality  of  actions  universally.  Accordingly 
our  task  is  to  find  out  wdiat  are  the  universal  conse- 
quences of  moral  action. 

An  action,  once  it  is  done,  becomes  a  fact ;  act  and 
fact  {actuni  and  factum)  are,  indeed,  one  and  the 
same  idea.  Our  actions  are  thus  issued  from  our 
will  into  the  control  of  the  general  law  of  causation, 
by  which  other  facts  in  the  universe  are  governed ; 
they  become  causal  agencies  —  forces  —  in  the  devel- 

1  Mominscn's  History  of  Route,  Vol.  I.  p.  192  (Eng.  eel).    Compare  Maine's 
Ain.'cnt  Law,  pp.  359.  360  (Anicr.  cd.). 


If 


98 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO  ETHICS. 


opmcnt  of  events ;  and  no  force  ever  dies.  The 
deed  therefore  which  has  been  done  can  never  be 
////done  ;  no  word  that  has  been  spoken  can  ever  be 
////spoken.  We  may  stand  aghast  at  the  havoc  which 
our  deeds  or  words  are  working  ;  we  may  feel  willing 
to  make  any  sacrifice  in  order  to  have  them  recalled. 
]^ut  it  may  not  be.  They  have  entered  into  the  his- 
tory of  earthly  transactions,  and  no  power  can  abol- 
ish them  from  that  history.  So  true  is  the  fin-,' 
saying  of  George  Eliot :  "  Our  deeds  are  like  our 
children  that  are  born  to  us  ;  they  live  and  act  apart 
from  our  own  will.  Nay,  children  may  be  strangled, 
but  deeds  never ;  they  have  an  indestructible  life 
both  in  and  out  of  our  consciousness."  ^ 

It  is  in  the  certainty  of  this  causal  energy  with  which 
our  action?  are  endowed,  that  reason  finds  the  reality 
of  an  inevitable  moral  retribution.  '*  In  the  burnimr 
and  magnifying  reflector  of  results,"  says  Richter, 
"  fate  shows  us  the  light,  playful  vermin  of  our  inner 
life  grown  into  armed  furies  and  snakes."  ^  Nov% 
what  are  the  results  which  the  irresistible  destiny  of 
Nature  draws  from  the  causal  energy  of  our  actions  ? 
These  results  follow  that  deeper  identity  which  under- 
lies all  differentiation,  and  makes  the  changes  of 
natural  phenomena  merely  transmigrations  of  force 
from  one  form  into  another  that  is  exactly  equivident. 
In  their  results  our  actions  themselves  reappear. 
This  reappearance  of  the  causal  action  in  its  retribu- 
tive effects  has  often  been  expressed,  with  singular 
fitness,  in  the  figure  which  compares  the  former  to 
the  sowing  of  seed,  and  the  latter  to  the  '-eaping  of 


1  Koniola,  cliapter  xvi. 


2   Titan,  Zykcl,  Sa. 


'  i: 


THE    MURAL   CONSCIOUSNESS    AS   COGNITION. 


99 


The 

r  be 
:r  be 
•hich 

iUing 
lUcd. 
I  his- 
abol- 

c   our 

apart 

ngled, 

Ic  life 


nng  of 


fruit.  As  in  the  field  of  external  nature,  so  in  that 
of  his  own  life,  it  is  an  invariable  law,  that  whatso- 
ever a  man  soweth,  that  precisely  and  that  only  shall 
he  reap.  The  moral  requital,  therefore,  of  every 
action,  is  certain  to  1)e  found  in  other  actions  which 
are  identical  with  it  in  moral  character. 

This  requital  of  our  actions  is  due  to  those  laws  of 
body  and  mind,  m  accordance  with  which  habits  and 
dexterities   are  formed.     Through  the   operation   of 
these  laws  an  action,  which  is  at  first  performed  with 
slow  and  deliberate  effort,  comes,  after  each  repetition, 
to  be  performed  with   greater  ease,  till   at  last  not 
only  may  it    be    performed    without    any    conscious 
effort  at  all,  but  the  tendency  to  perform   it   in  sug- 
gestive  circumstances  may  become   so  strong  as  to 
require  an  effort  more  or  less  strenuous  to  resist  it. 
As  a  result  of  this   general   process,  every  virtuous 
act   creates   in   the   agent  a  tendency  to  act   in   the 
same  way  with  greater  ease  again,  while  ev^ery  vicious 
act  inevitably  dooms  the  offender  to  a  more  irresist- 
ible vicious  impulse  in   the  same  direction.     Every 
moral   action    thus    finds    its    moral   retribution,  the 
moment  it  is  done,  by  confirming,  in  one  direction  or 
another,  the  moral  habits  of  the  agent.     Not  a  single 
act  issues  from  his  will  without  leaving  him  morally 
better  or  worse  than  he  was    before.      Every  deed 
done  and  every  word  spoken,  even  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  that  are  merely  cherished  in  consciousness, 
all   go  to   form   those   moal   habits  which   together 
constitute   the    permanent    character,    that    is,    the 
unalterable  fate,  of  every  man.     It  is  therefore  but  a 
sober  truLli  of  ethical  teaching,  that  every  idle  word 


iill 


ir 


!« 


I  DO 


A\  i\'i"R()i)rc'i'in\  'I'o  I'/riircs. 


that  men  shall  speak,  they  shall  give  account  thereof 
in  that  final  summation  of  their  lives,  which  forms 
for  all  the  Day  of  Ju(ljj;ment. 

With  a  g-rowing  insight  into  this  law  the  moral 
consciousness  abandons  more  and  more  all  expecta- 
tion of  rewartls  and  punishments  that  are  not  essen- 
tially connected  with  the  morality  of  life,  and  learns 
to  rest  in  that  moral  government  described  by  an 
ancient  rabbi  :  "  One  good  deed  draws  another  after 
it,  and  one  sin  another  ;  for  the  reward  of  virtue  is 
virtue,  and  the  inmishment  of   sin  is  a  new  sin."  ^ 

'  Sinn  Ml  l)on  Azai.  a  rabbi  of  tlic  first  century,  in  Just's  Gcscliiclifc  i/rs 
JudcnUnoiis  iiiul  sr/inr  Sc\/i;\'o\.\l.  p.  9S.  Compare  Daniel  Dcronda, 
liook  V'l.  cliapter  xlvi.  The  proverb  tliat  "virtue  is  its  own  reward,"'  is  tliiis 
literally  true.     Cioetiie  has  expressed  tlie  counterjiart  of  tlie  proverb:  — 

"  Das  cben  ist  d^  ••   Flucli  der  Ixisen  Tiiat, 
Dass  sie  fortzeugend  ininier  Buses  nuiss  gebiiren." 


' 


THE   MORAL  CONbCiOUSNKSS   AS   EMOTION.        lOI 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE    MORAL    CONSCIOUSNESS    AS    EMOTION. 

The  fact,  that  the  moral  consciousness  has  an 
emotional  as  well  as  an  intellectual  phase,  is  too  evi- 
dent to  reciuire  explicit  demonstration.  As  already 
observed,  this  phase  is  so  prominent,  that  with  some 
writers  it  seems  to  exclude  every  other  view,  and  the 
moral  consciousness  is  described  as  if  it  were  wholly 
an  offspring  of  sensibility.  The  prominence  of  this 
phase  in  the  daily  consciousness  of  men  is  also  indi- 
cated by  the  fact,  that  ordinary  language  supplies 
numerous  expressions  to  denote  the  feelings  that 
have  their  source  in  the  moral  life.  To  describe  a 
peculiarly  acute  sensibility  of  the  mind  to  moral 
impressions,  we  speak  of  a  tender  conscience,  or 
sometimes,  with  a  pithy  vulgarism,  of  a  conscience 
that  is  squcauiisJi.  Qualms^  stings,  fangs,  prickings, 
tzvino-cs  of  conscience,  are  some  of  the  terms  used 
for  the  painful  affections  of  our  moral  nature,  while 
a  person  suffering  from  these  is  often  pictured  as 
c  o  n  s  c  i  e  n  c  e-iv/i!  ittm . 

The  presence  of  the  emotional  factor  in  moral 
consciousness  may  be  illustrated  from  another  point 
of  view.  The  moral  life  is  a  conscious  activity,  dud 
such  activity  is  inexplicable  except  under  the  impulse 
of  feeling.     Pure   cognition  —  even   the   contempla- 


'M^ 


\  H^ 


i  I 


I02 


AN    INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


li  i 


tion  of  a  })ractical  truth — is  conceivable  without 
any  stirring  of  emotion.  In  all  departments  rf 
human  inquiry  the  thinker  is  ai)t  to  be  taken  by 
surprise  at  times  if  he  reflects  on  the  callous  insen- 
sibility with  which,  in  purely  speculative  moods,  the 
intellect  can  deal  with  facts  which,  in  a  more  practi- 
cal mood,  may  rouse  the  soul  to  impassioned  exer- 
tion. The  mere  cognition  of  moral  law  therefore  is 
not  sufficient  for  moral  action.  "  Axioms  are  not 
axioms,"  said  Keats,  "till  they  have  been  felt  upon 
our  pi  'ses  ; "  and  the  saying  embodies  an  important 
psychological  truth,  at  least  when  it  is  referred,  as 
was  evidently  intended,  to  axioms  of  conduct.  Moral 
axioms  are  not  really  ap})rehended  in  their  essential 
natuN;  as  practical  truths  till  they  have  sent  a  thrill 
through  the  emotional  life  ;  it  is  only  then  that  they 
become  motives  of  action.  It  ^hus  appears  from  the 
full  analysis  of  his  moral  activity,  that  the  intellect 
of  man  is  swayed  by  his  feelings. 

"  i'lcason  the  card,  but  passion  is  the  gale." 

It  is  therefore  pointed  out  by  Hume,  that  in  scien- 
tific accuracy  the  common  expression  is  indefensible, 
which  speaks  of  reason  and  passion  counteracting 
each  other.^  The  real  fact  intended  is,  that  the 
more  violent  emotions,  to  which  the  name  of  passion 
is  often  confined,  come  into  conflict  with  those  less 
intense  feelings  which  draw  their  character  from  the 
guidance  of  reason,  and  under  which  the  mental 
condition  seems  more  akin  to  calm  intellectual 
activity  than   to   emotional  excitement.     The  moral 

1    Treatise  of  Iliiiiidit  Xiiture,  I!i.  -k  II.  jiart  ill.  §  3. 


THE   MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS   AS   EMOTION.        103 


feelings,  it  need  scarcely  be  explained,  take  their 
place  among  this  latter  class,  that  is,  among  those 
which  find  their  origin  or  their  peculiar  bias  in 
reason.  Yet  it  is  worth  noting  that  their  intensity 
is  often  such  as,  on  first  thought  at  least,  to  appear 
a  perplexing  psychological  problem.  Many  of  the 
most  tragic  events,  both  in  the  inner  and  in  the 
outer  life  of  men,  may  be  traced  to  the  overpowering 
anguish  of  the  moral  feelings. 

This  intensity  of  emotional  excitement  would 
certainly  be  mysterious,  if  it  were  referred  exclu- 
sively to  moral  emotion,  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the 
expression.  But  the  truth  is,  that  the  emotional 
elements  of  the  moral  consciousness  form  an 
extremely  complicated  phenomenon.  The  complica- 
tion, too,  is  extremely  varied.  Not  only  does  this 
appear  in  comparing  different  persons  at  different 
stagv  s  of  moral  culture  ;  even  the  same  person  is 
subject  to  great  variations  of  moral  sentiment,  which 
are  determined  partly  by  his  own  subjective  moods, 
partly  by  various  objective  causes. 

Of  these  determining  influences,  to  which  the 
variations  of  moral  sentiment  arc  due,  probably  the 
most  powerful  in  general  are  the  objective  causes. 
The  external  circumstances,  in  which  a  person  is 
placed,  commonly  give  rise  to  a  variety  of  natural 
emotions,  which  mingle  with  the  strictly  moral  feel- 
ings, and  give  a  peculiar  tone  to  the  whole  emotional 
state  excited.  Thus  the  relation,  in  which  any  one 
stands  to  others,  may  be  forced  into  such  prominence 
in  his  thoughts  as  to  determine  very  largely  the 
nature  of  the  feelings  with  which  he  regards  his  own 


!!i 


I04 


AN    INTROnCCTIOX  TO    I'.TIIICS. 


conduct.  lie  may  be  stirred  with  all  the  exulting 
excitement  of  successful  ambition,  or  endure  the 
mortification  of  being  baffled  in  his  pursuits  ;  he  may 
be  exhilarated  by  the  fame  of  recognized  merit,  or 
may  cringe  under  the  terror  of  detection  and  punish- 
ment ;  the  sympathy  which  finds  pleasure  in  making 
others  pleased,  or  pain  in  giving  pain,  may  form  an 
important  element  in  the  feelings  aroused.  And  the 
emotional  agitation  may  be  exalted  or  modified  by 
religious  ideas.  A  man  may  be  moved  by  desire  to 
please  God,  or  by  the  fear  of  His  displeasure,  by  the 
hope  of  heaven,  or  the  dread  of  hell ;  these  prospec- 
tive emotions  being  very  variously  tinged  by  the 
coloring  given  to  the  prospect  hoped  or  feared. 

In  fact,  the  abstract  analyses  of  science  can  never 
completely  exhibit  the  emotions  which  may  thus 
alter  the  complexion  of  the  moral  consciousness.  It 
is  only  in  general  literature,  with  its  concrete  por- 
traitures of  human  character,  that  we  can  find  any- 
thing approaching  to  an  adequate  representation  of 
the  infinite  shades  of  difference  in  the  moral  feelings 
of  different  individuals  or  of  the  same  individual  at 
different  times.  All  literature  that  gives  play  to  the 
dramatic  imagination  draws  its  materials  largely  from 
this  class  of  feelings,  and  founds  its  deepest  plot- 
interest  on  the  developments  which  these  feelings 
undergo.  It  is  on  this  account,  as  already  stated, 
that  a  certain  plausibility  is  given  to  empirical  or 
naturalistic  theories  of  the  moral  consciousness, 
because  it  is  always  easy  to  show  that  certain  natural 
feelings  take  a  more  or  less  prominent  place  among 
its  associations. 


TIIK    MORAL   C(;\SCI()USXI':SS    AS    I'.MOTIOX. 


105 


or 


ll  at 
the 

Irom 

rlot- 
ngs 

Itctl, 
or 
less, 
liral 
)ng 


But  the  (juestion  still  remains,  Is  moral  sentiment 
simply  a  c()mi)lexus  ol  sentiments  whieh  in  them- 
selves are  purely  natural,  non-moral  ?  or  is  there, 
()".'r  and  abov-e  the  natural  sentiments  that  may 
mini^de  with  the  moral  consciousness,  an  emotional 
factor  A7//jf,'-t7/rm,  that  is  distinctively  moral?  This 
<|uestion  has  been  implicitly  answered  in  the  previous 
chapter,  and  all  that  is  now  required  is  to  point  out 
the  inference  Vv-hich  follows  from  the  arj/ument  of 
that  chapter  with  regard  to  the  nature  of  moral 
emotion. 

The  general  drift  of  the  chapter  was  to  show  that 
the  moral  consciousness,  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  cognition, 
cnniiot  be  merely  a  product  of  natural  causation,  — 
that,  on  the  contrary,  it  im])lies  a  princii)le  in  our 
consciousness  transcending  the  natural  course  of 
events.  What  bearing  has  this  upon  the  emotional 
aspect  of  the  moral  consciousness  .''  This  question 
must  be  answered  by  referring  to  the  source  of 
emotions  in  general.  All  emotions,  that  is,  all  our 
feelings  in  so  far  as  they  are  more  than  sim})le 
sensations,  ari^^o  from  ideas.  It  is  the  consciousness 
of  motherhood  that  evokes  the  emotion  of  motherly 
love  ;  it  is  the  idea  of  his  relation  to  his  parents  that 
awakens  filial  affection  in  the  child  ;  the  thought  of 
a  favor  conferred  stirs  a  feeling  of  gratitude  ;  reflec- 
tion on  an  injury  inflicted  rouses  the  passion  of 
anger.  In  like  manner  moral  emotions  must  find 
their  origin  in  moral  ideas.  Now,  as  these  are  not 
mere  products  of  nature,  neither  are  those.  After 
eliminating  from  the  moral  consciousness  all  hopes 
and  fears,  all  loves  and  hates,  and  other  emotions. 


i*!: 


■I 


IM        < 


:! 


■■   ( 


io6 


AN    !XTRr)l)UCTIC)N   TO  KTIIICS. 


tliiit  arise  fioni  ihc  pleasure^'  and  i)ains  cjI  natural 
life,  there  remains  a  residuum  of  feeling  that  is  dis- 
tinctively moral. 

This  strictly  moral  phase  of  feeling  itself  varies 
according  to  the  various  -  •  's  in  which  the  moral 
law  may  be  viewed.  C.v.  great  difference  in  the 
attitude  of  the  mind  to  the  m.oral  law  arises  from  its 
being  viewed  in  the  abstract  or  in  the  concrete. 

In  minds  of  larger  culture  the  abstract  moral  law 
is  in  itself  calculated  to  awaken  a  peculiar  emotion  ; 
and  most  of  tlie  great  writers,  who  have  undertaken 
to  expound  its  infinite  and   imperative  claims,  mani- 


fest in  the  tone  of  their  1 


miru 


aire  the  <rlow  of  feeling 


with  which  they  touch  their  theme.  Iwen  poetic 
sentiment,  though  founding  of  necessity  mainly  on 
concrete  facts,  is  stirred  at  times  to  almost  rajUurous 
overflow  by  this  "  stern  Daughter  of  the  Voice  of 
God." 

"  Stern  Lawgiver  !     Vet  thou  dost  wear 
Tlie  Ciodhead's  most  Ijenignant  grace  ; 

Nor  know  we  anytliing  so  fair 
As  is  the  smile  ui)on  thy  f^ace  : 

Flowers  laugh  before  thee  on  their  beds, 

And  fragrance  in  lliv  footing  treads; 

Thou  dost  preserve  tlie  stars  from  wrong, 


And  the  most  ancient  heavens  through  thee  are  fresli  and  strong 


»  1 


iii^  ■, 


Such  a  distinctively  moral  emotion  —  an  emotion 
excited   by  th(^  pure  moral  law  —  imi)lies  of'  course 

1  Wordswortli's  Otic  to  Duty.  'J'lie  CJrcek  draniatists,  especially  in  their 
clioruscs,  often  rise  to  the  same  ran,i;eof  tl)oii,t;ht.  With  the  splendid  iinatfin- 
ation  which  illuininatcs  his  fra.t,'nieiits,  Ilciaklcitos  connects  the  laws  that 
rule  the  great  cosmic  movenicnts  willi  Ihusc  that  govern  the  moral  world: 
"  Tlic  sun  niav  not  transgress  liis  hcjunds.  else  the  I'ainnycs,  who  are  the 
ministers  of  just  ice.  shall  find  him  out.'" 


TIIK   MORAL  CONSCIOUSXKSS   AS    KMOTlo.N 


lo; 


|.ig."  1 


tion 
lurse 

their 
|n:i,i^in- 
that 
Loiid  : 
Ire  the 


II,  distinctively  moral  scMisibility  ;  but  this  sensibility 
nuist  not  1)0  confounded  with  the  moral  sense  as  con- 
ceived by  those  i)hiloso[)hers  who  ascribe  to  it  the 
oriL;in  of  moral  ideas.  The  so-called  moral  sense 
would  not  be  essentially  different  from  the  modes  of 
natural  sensibility  ;  it  would  be  excited  by  natural 
ai^ency  in  a  manner  precisely  similar  to  that  in  which 
the  bodily  senses  are  stimulated,  and  moral  ideas 
would  be  simply  the  empirical  impressions  of  this 
sense.  JUit  in  reality  the  moral  feelin<;s  are  not 
tiie  source,  they  are  rather  the  issue,  of  moral  ideas. 
The  conception  of  a  law  im[)osinij;  an  absolutely 
im[)erative  obli[;"ation  strikes  our  sensibility  in  a  pecu- 
liar way.  Other  aspects  of  the  moral  law  may  excite 
various  appropriate  emotions,  such  as  those  of  order, 
beauty,  sublimity ;  but  the  consciousness  of  an 
unconditional  C)uL;'ht  has  its  own  peculiar  feeling. 
As  this  law  has  its  source  in  reason  alone  applied  to 
the  government  of  our  conduct,  the  feeling  it  excites 
is  properly  a  sentiment  of  pure  reaso'  The  emo- 
tional factors  of  the  moral  life  are  tl  us  shown  to 
draw  their  inspiration  from  a  transcendental  origin  ; 
the  love  of  duty  is  strictly  an  ^^  anior  intcUcctiialisy  ^ 
WwX  the  widest  field  for  the  play  of  moral  emotion 
is  of  c(jurse  to  be  found  in  the  concrete  applications 
of  moral  law  in  human  life.  The  actions  of  men, 
whether  our  own  or  those  of  others,  afford  a  perpetual 
stimulus  to  the  moral  sen:;ibility.  In  the  first  place, 
the  actions  of  others  may,  indeed,  excite  many  nat- 

"  Liglit  intcllcctuiil  replete  with  love, 
Love  of  true  i;o(id  replete  with  ecstasy, 
Ef'stasy  that  transccndeth  every  sweetness." 

I).\NTJ;'s  Paiiuiiso,  XXX.  40-43. 


i  n\ 


:    i 


io8 


AN   INTRODUCTION'  TO   KTIIKS. 


uml  feelings  that  have  nothini;  in  thcin  distinctively 
moral, — love,  admiration,  reverence,  devotion,  on 
the  one  hand,  and  hatred,  indignation,  fear,  scorn, 
disgust,  on  the  other;  but,  in  atldition  to  these  purely- 
natural  feelings,  there  may  be  also  the  distinctively 
moral  sentiments  of  approbation  and  disapprobation, 
that  is,  sentiment,  due  entirely  to  the  moral  character 
of  actions,  —  to  the  consciousness  that  actions  are  in 
harmony  or  in  conflict  with  the  moral  law. 

In  the  second  place,  our  own  actions  give  rise  to 
feelings  that  are  strictly  moral,  over  and  above  any 
natural  feelings  by  which  these  may  be  accompanied. 
On  the  one  hand,  there  is  a  certain  feeling  of  self- 
complacency  connected  with  the  consciousness  of 
having  acted  rightly,  — a  feeling  that  has  no  distinc- 
tively expressive  name  in  ordinary  language,  perhaps 
because  it  is  not  very  prominent  in  human  conscious- 
ness. But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  probably  a  signifi- 
cant indication  of  the  moral  condition  of  mankind, 
that  the  oi)posite  feeling  is  known  by  a  term  which 
is  at  once  so  familiar,  so  distinctive,  and  so  expressive, 
as  remorse. 


li 


"  1 


Till':    MUKAl,  CONSCIUUSNKSS   AS   VOLITION.       IO9 


CIIAITI'R    III. 


I 


THE    MORAL    COXSCIOUSXLSS    AS    VOLITION. 

This  cha[)ter  introduces  us  to  one  of  tlie  most 
pcr[)le\ini;"  c|uestions  in  the  wliole  domain  of  ICthics, 
—  a  ([uestion  which  involves  the  ratUcal  prohlcm  of 
all  |)hilos()i)hy.  It  may  therefore  be  found  expedient 
to  clear  the  j;round  for  the  discussion  of  this  question, 
by  explaining;,  first  of  all,  the  facts  which  are  L;ener- 
ally  admitted  in  reference  to  the  nature  of  volition. 

§  I.    Facts  generally  aduiittcd  rcgavdiih^  Volition. 

It  has  been  already  remarked  (p.  27)  that  volition 
or  voluntary  action  is  identical  with  moral  action. 
In  other  words,  no  action  can  be  charged  with  a 
moral  character  if  it  is  not  within  the  control  of  the 
will ;  but  every  action  acquires  a  moral  character  in 
so  far  as  it  is  within  such  control. 

Here,  then,  we  come  upon  the  characteristic  by 
which  moral  actions  are  differentiated  from  actions 
that  arc  non-moral.  It  is  admitted,  in  one  form  or 
another,  by  all  moralists,  that  the  moral  element  in 
an  action  is  purely  mental,  is  strictly  a  fact  of  con- 
sciousness. By  this  is  meant  that,  in  order  to  be 
moral,  an  action  must  be  done  with  an  intention,  that 
is,  an  end  towards  which  the  action  is  consciously 
directed. 


1^' 


I  lO 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    ETHICS. 


I'     ' 


in 


'Tis  true,  tliC  objective  tendencies  or  results  of  an 
action  have  <^-reater  importance  attached  to  them  by 
some  thinkers  than  by  others.  This  is  apt  to  be  the 
view  especially  of  those  who  find  the  goodness  of  an 
action  in  its  utility,  that  is,  its  tendency  to  pro- 
mote ha})piness.^  lUit  utilitarians  usu.dly  distinguish 
themselves  by  their  earnestness  in  insisting  that  the 
utility  of  an  action  must  be  intended  by  the  agent  in 
order  to  make  his  action  morally  good  ;  and  no  one 
maintains  that  a  result,  which  is  brought  about 
simply  by  the  natural  causation  of  an  action,  in  si)ite 
of  the  agent's  intention  or  even  wholly  apart  from 
that  intention,  is  one  for  which  he  can  be  either 
mornlly  i)niised  or  morally  blamed.  "  I  did  not 
intend  it,"  is  the  spontaneous  defence  of  every  man 
against  being  held  responsible  for  any  unforeseen 
effect  of  an  action. 

Moral  action,  then,  in  its  essential  nature,  is 
always  the  mental  or  conscious  action  by  which  we 
aim  at  the  attainment  of  a  certain  end.  This  general 
doctrine  is,  indeed,  interpreted  differently  in  different 
ethical  schools,  and  these  differences  of  interpreta- 
tion will  come  under  review,  and  be  more  easily 
intelligible,  when  we  proceed  to  the  discussion  of 
ICthics  proper.  But  the  general  doctrine  itself  is  an 
essential  principle  of  ethical  science.  The  firm 
grasp  of  the  principle,  however,  as  was  pointed  out 

1  nentliaiii  seems  specially  pronounced  in  referrinc;  to  the  consequences  of  an 
action  the  tactor  which  detcrnunes  its  uioial  character  {Prhui/'lcs  of  Aforals 
and  I.r^^islafioii,  chapters  vii.-xi.  inclusive).  Ihil  in  iiis  elaborate  distinctions, 
th(Ui^;h  lie  deals  somewhat  roughly  with  many  usa,t;es  of  common  speech,  yet 
lie  does  not  apjiear  essentially  in  contlict  with  the  common  doctrine  of 
moralists  as  explained  in  the  text. 


p 


3f  an 
ni  by 
c  the 
of  an 
p  ro- 
il-uish 
It  the 
cnt  in 

0  one 
about 

1  si)ite 
;   from 

cither 
d  not 
y  man 
freseen 

u'c,    is 
lich  we 
general 
"fercnt 
jrpreta- 
easily 
ion  of 
is  an 
firm 
d  out 

In  CCS  of  an 
1/  Morals 
llinctiiins, 
heccli,  yet 
Ictiinc  of 


TllK    MORAL   COXSCIOUSXESS    AS    VOLITION.        I  11 

in  the  third  section  of  the  previous  chapter,  has  been 
a  L;'ra(lual  <;ain  of  moral  civilization  ;  for,  in  the 
development  of  the  iinlividual  as  well  as  of  the  race, 
there  is  evidently  a  time  when  it  is  not  so  obvious  as 
it  seems  to  the  educated  mind  of  the  present  day, 
that  moral  desert  can  attach  only  to  intentional  or 
voluntary  acts.  It  may  therefore  be  of  service  to 
the  student  to  liny;er  for  a  moment  over  the  exposi- 
tion of  this  truth. 

I.  The  truth  is,  first  of  all,  strikinj^dy  illustrated 
by  the  fact,  that  actions,  which  in  their  external 
aspect  are  perfectly  similar,  may  yet  be  diametri- 
cally opposite  in  moral  character,  owini;  to  the  total 
difference  in  the  intentions  with  which  they  are 
severally    done.      Suppose,    for    example,    a    sum    of 


m 


oney  given  on  two  tlifferent  occasions  by  the  s; 


)erson  to  the  sa 


me  person,  and  a[)plied  in  Do 


)th 


unc 

ises 


to  the  same  object  ;  but  in  the  one  case  let  the 
intention  of  the  giver  be  to  confer  some  benefit,  in 
the  other  case  to  bribe.  Here  are  two  actions  in  all 
their  overt  circumstances  indistinguisliable,  and  yet 
separated  by  the  whole  diameter  of  the  moral  uni- 


verse, 


N 


ow,  w 


hat  is  the  difference  betwx'cn  them  .'* 


I'y  hypothesis,  only  the  intention. 

II.  The  same  truth  is  further  illustrated  by  the 
fact,  that  a  moral  action  is  often  prevented  by  physical 
causes  from  passing  beyond  the  intention,  or  at  least 
from  reaching  the  intended   result.     Whatever  fr 


ee- 


dom  may  be  claimed  for  human  volition,  it  is  still  on 
all  sides  restricted  by  the  physical  forces  employed 
in  producing  the  effects  that  are  willed.  Not  only 
must  the  a^rent's  own  nervous  and  muscular  force  be 


"^ 


\  \ 


',     ! 


:'i 


I  12 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    KTIIICS. 


in  i-i 


II'  fl 


sufficient  for  the  work  be  undertakes,  but  in  general 
a  variety  of  conditions  in  bis  environment  must  be 
fulfilled  in  order  to  the  attainment  of  the  end  which 
he  has  in  view.  Tliere  may  thus  be  often  a  whole 
chain  of  physical  conditions  between  tlie  originating'; 
volition  and  its  ultimate  ol)ject.  This  chain  may 
embrace  merely  a  few  circumstances  that  must  be 
realized  on  the  spot,  but  sometimes  it  connects  a 
long  series  of  events  extending  over  days,  or  months, 
or  years.  The  interval,  which  stretches  in  tliis  way 
between  the  first  conception  of  an  act  and  its  ulti- 
mate fulfilment,  gives  scope  for  many  a  vacillation  of 
purpose,  many  a  conflict  of  contending  motives  ;  and 
if  the  prospective  action  is  calculated  to  awe  the 
soul,  the  internal  struggle  may  form  one  of  the  most 
terrible  experiences  in  the  mental  life  of  man. 

"Between  the  actincr  of  a  dreadful  thine; 
And  tlie  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is 
Like  a  i)hantasma  or  a  hideous  dream  : 
The  Oeiiiiis  and  the  mortal  instruments 
Are  then  in  council  ;  and  the  state  of  man, 
Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then 
The  nature  of  an  insurrection." 

In  the  chain  of  events  filling  up  this  interval, 
every  link  may  be  indispensable  to  the  accomplisli- 
ment  of  the  result  intended,  and  yet  the  chain  is 
liable  to  snap  at  any  link.  In  fact,  all  men  arc  being 
frequently  baflled  in  their  best  endeavors  by  unfore- 
seen contingencies,  and  often  also  an  evil  intention  is 
defeated  by  the  happy  interposition  of  some  unex- 
pected hindrance.  It  is  on  this  account  that  men 
have,  in  all  ages,  been  conscious  that  their  designs 


Till':    MORAL   CONSCIOUSNESS    AS    VOLITION.        II  ; 


lorc- 
In  is 

licx- 
ncn 


o-ns 


arc  overruled  by  a  Power  beyond  their  control, — a 
Power  which  has  been  pictured,  at  one  time  as  a  piti- 
less P^ate  working  out  its  results  without  regard  to 
the  interests  of  man,  at  another  as  a  kindly  Provi- 
dence that  '*  shapes  our  ends,  rough-hew  them  how 
we  will." 

As  an  inference  from  this  it  has  been  a  common- 
place of  ethical  teaching,  that  a  man's  moral  actions 
—  the  actions  for  which  alone  he  can  be  held  morally 
responsible  —  do  not  necessarily  extend  to  the  results 
accomplished,  but  merely  to  those  intended.  All 
that  the  moral  law,  therefore,  demands  of  any  man 
is  to  will  what  is  good,  that  is,  to  act  so  as  to 
accomplish  what  is  good,  so  far  as  it  is  within  his 
power. 

It  is  for  this  reason  that  we  must  always  be  on  our 
guard  against  estimating  the  moral  achievements  of 
men  by  the  external  extent  or  splendor  of  the  stage 
on  which  they  are  transacted.  Nor  can  the  moral 
significance  of  an  action  be  measured  by  what  is 
commonly  called  success.  As  it  implies  the  execu- 
tion in  the  outer  world  of  purposes  mentally  planned, 
success  depends  on  forces  that  are  often  beyond  the 
agent's  control.  Consequently  all  human  experience, 
both  on  the  large  scale  displayed  in  historical  litera- 
ture, and  in  the  little  incidents  that  make  up  the 
unrecorded  lives  of  obscure  men,  contains  numerous 
instances  in  which  efforts  of  heroic  morality  appear 
to  be  frustrated,  and  a  noble  cause  appears  to  go 
down  in  total  defeat,  l^ut  it  is  precisely  here  that 
moral  intelligence  finds  scope  in  piercing  through  the 
vanishing  appearances  of  the  sensible  world  to  dis- 


II ! 


m:., 


in 


n 

nil 

[■  t: 

f" 

114 


AN    INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


cern  the  unfailing  operation  of  the  eternal  laws  by 
which  the  moral  world  is  sustained. 

III.  The  essential  nature  of  moral  action  is  per- 
haps still  more  clearly  indicated  by  the  fact,  that 
often  it  is  not  directed  to  any  overt  result  at  all,  and 
therefore  does  not  betray  itself  in  any  overt  move- 
ment. In  other  words,  the  actions  for  which  men 
are  morally  praised  or  blamed  are  sometimes  merely 
thoughts,  feelings,  desires.  It  is  true,  that,  in  so  far 
as  these  are  suggested  by  causes  beyond  our  control, 
we  cannot  be  held  morally  responsible  for  them  ; 
they  must  then  be  accounted  for  by  the  natural  Laws 
of  Suggestion.  But  they  are  not  wholly  beyond 
voluntary  control.  Not  to  dwell  on  the  fact,  that 
that  control  may  be  carried  back,  in  many  cases,  to 
the  formation  of  habits,  by  which  the  suggestion  of 
particular  thoughts  and  passions  is  rendered  easier  or 
more  difficult ;  even  when  these  have  been  suggested 
involuntarily,  we  hold  them  still  under  voluntary  con- 
trol, inasmuch  as  we  may  cherish  them  into  irresisti- 
ble activity,  or  crush  them  into  impotence.  The 
masterful  suggestiveness  of  unwelcome  thoughts  or 
desires,  and  the  endeavor  to  repress  them,  give  rise 
to  the  sternest  warfare  of  human  life ;  and  it  is  in 
this  internal  warfare  that  all  our  decisive  conflicts 
are  fought.  For  the  external  character  of  men's 
actions,  and  therefore  all  the  movements  of  human 
history,  are  decided  beforehand  by  the  previous  inter- 
nal triumph  or  defeat. 

It  is  upon  this  principle  also  that  the  noblest 
moral  teaching  has  always  enjoined  the  necessity  of 
guarding  the  internal  springs  of  action,  rather  than 


THE   M(>RAL   CONSCIOUSNESS   AS   VOLITION. 


115 


blest 
ty  of 
Ithan 


the  mere  observance  of  external  rules,  and  has 
always  insisted  that  tlie  moral  law  is  broken  in 
reality,  because  it  is  broken  in  its  spirit,  when  a  man 
desires  to  do  an  evil  act,  even  though  external 
circumstances  may  [)revent  him  from  carrying  out 
his  desire. 

On  these  grounds,  then,  it  is  maintained  that  the 
morality  of  an  action  is  essentially  dependent  on  the 
intention  with  which  it  is  done.  Ikit  this  doctrine 
is  liable  to  a  misunderstanding,  against  which  it  is 
necessary  to  provide  by  some  further  explanation. 
It  may  be  urged,  and  has  in  fact  been  maintained 
by  some  moralists,  that,  since  the  moral  character  of 
an  action  depends  on  the  intention  of  the  agent,  any 
action,  whatever  its  external  character  may  be,  will 
be  rendered  morally  good  or  bad  according  to  the 
goodness  or  badness  of  the  intention  by  which  the 
agent  is  guided.  Thus,  an  action  which  from  its 
baneful  results  must  commonly  involve  immorality 
on  the  part  of  the  agent  —  lying,  stealing,  murder- 
ing —  would  become  morally  good  if  the  agent  could 
only  succeed  for  the  moment  in  conjuring  a  mental 
outlook  beyond  the  immediate  baneful  act — beyond 
the  lie,  the  theft,  or  the  murder  —  towards  a  remoter 
good  end  which  the  act  may  be  the  means  of  attain- 
ing. This  is  the  inference  implied  in  the  principle 
that  "the  end  justifies  the  means," — that  "it  is 
allowable  to  do  evil,  that  good  may  come."  But  it 
has  been  the  unequivocal  teaching  of  a  sound  moral- 
ity in  all  ages,  that  such  a  principle  would  corrupt 
the  very  sources  of  our  moral  life  ;  and  therefore  it 
becomes  necessary  to  understand  why  the  subjective 


'I 

i 


i 


n     :Ul 


t 


ii6 


A\    INTRODUCTION   TO   KTIIICS. 


goodness  of  intention  cannot  make  an  action  L;ood, 
which  is  evil  in  its  objective  nature. 

To  see  this,  it  must  l)e  l<ept  in  mind  that  an  inten- 
tion is  not  a  purely  subjective  fact.  It  is  a  common- 
place among-  psychologists,  to  distinguish  volitions, 
as  well  as  cognitions,  from  feelings,  by  the  fact  that 
they  necessarily  have  an  objective  reference.  A 
volition  is  obviously  impossible  without  a  cognition 
of  the  end  which  the  person  willing  intends  to  attain, 
and  this  end  is,  in  fact,  often  spoken  of  as  the  object 
of  his  action.  It  is  only,  therefore,  by  an  artificial 
abstraction  of  thought,  that  a  good  intention  can  be 
separated  from  its  object,  and  treated  as  if  it  were  a 
purely  subjective  phenomenon.  Sometimes,  indeed, 
in  the  popular  use  of  the  word,  a  purely  subjective 
phenomenon  seems  to  be  mernt.  Thus  a  plan,  with 
which  a  man  allows  his  imagination  to  dally  now  and 
then  as  a  possibility  that  may  some  day  be  realized, 
but  which  he  never  takes  any  effective  steps  to 
carry  out,  is  occasionally  spoken  of  as  something 
which  he  intends  to  do ;  and  it  was  obviously  in 
reference  to  this  use  of  the  term,  that  Johnson  spoke 
of  hell  being  paved  with  good  intentions.  But  even 
here,  and  in  general  when  intention  is  viewed  as  a 
concrete  fact  of  the  moral  life,  it  has  an  objective  as 
well  as  a  subjective  side.  Not  only  must  the  agent 
"  mean  well,"  so  far  as  his  conscious  purpose  —  his 
subjective  intention — is  concerned;  but  he  must 
have  a  "good  object  "  in  view.  In  accordance  with 
the  more  pronounced  distinctions  of  popular  thought 
it  may  be  said,  that  two  conditions  are  required  to 
make  an  action  good.     One  of  these  is  objective, — 


ly   in 
[poke 
I  even 
as  a 
l^e  as 
iirent 
his 
hiust 
iwith 
uirht 
Id  to 


TIIK   MORAL   CONSCIOUSNESS   AS    VOLITION. 


117 


the  conformity  of  the  action  with  the  moral  law  as 
the  ohjcctive  standard  of  goodness.  The  other  con- 
dition is  subjective,  —  a  good  intention  on  the  part 
of  the  agent. 

When  an  action  fulfds  both  of  these  conditions,  it 
is  said  to  lie  perfectly  or  absolutely  good.  Ikit  it  is 
admitted  that  human  goodness  rarely,  if  ever,  attains 
this  absolute  perfection  ;  and,  therefore,  to  recognize 
any  goodness  at  all  in  human  life,  it  is  necessary  to 
allow  a  certain  relative,  imperfect,  or  partial  good- 
ness in  actions,  even  when  they  do  not  completely 
fulfil  the  conditions  of  absolute  goodness.  Accord- 
ingly  it  becomes  a  matter  of  some  importance  to 
discover  what  is  the  effect  upon  the  moral  character 
of  an  action,  when  the  one  or  the  other  of  these 
conditions  is  not  realized. 

I.  We  shall  take  first,  as  the  simpler  of  the  two 
alternatives,  that  in  which  the  subjective  condition 
is  a-wanting,  or,  in  other  words,  the  case  in  which  an 
action  is  done,  not  with  a  good,  but  with  a  bad 
intention.  Here  there  can  be  no  room  for  casuistical 
complications.  The  object  which  an  agent  intends 
to  accomplish  by  his  action  is  that  for  which  he  must 
beheld  morally  responsible, — that  for  which  he  is 
to  1)L.  morally  praised  or  morally  blamed.  It  matters 
not  therefore  what  the  real  result  of  an  action  may 
be,  if  the  result  intended  by  the  agent  was  some- 
thing which  he  knew  to  be  bad,  the  action  takes  its 
moral  character  entirely  from  that  intention.  It  has 
been  already  observed,  that  the  chain  of  physical 
conditions,  by  which  our  remoter  ends  are  reached, 
may  slip  from  our  control  at  any  link  ;  and  conse- 


It  'A 


;lf 


Mi 


ii.<? 


AN    INTRODUCTION  TO  KTlIlfS. 


qucntly,  while  vvc  must  endure  at  times  the  mortifi- 
cation of  seeing  our  best  endeavors  defeated  by 
insuperable  obstacles,  fortunately  also  many  a  crimi- 
nal intention  is  frustrated  by  a  happy  accident 
unforeseen.  It  is  thus  an  every-day  occurrence, 
that  actions,  whose  sole  motive  was  an  intention  to 
gratify  some  evil  passion,  may  be  turned  to  i)enefi- 
cent  results ;  yet  the  evil  intention  of  the  agent 
strips  his  action  of  all  moral  goodness,  only  its 
natural  goodness  remains.  If  this  natural  goodness 
can  in  any  sense  be  spoken  of  as  moral,  its  moral 
character  must  be  ascribed,  not  to  the  human  agent 
with  his  evil  intentions,  but  to  the  Infinite  Agent 
who  works  in  accordance  with  natural  laws. 

A  great  historical  illustration  of  the  necessity  for 
distinguishing  between  the  natural  goodness  and  the 
moral  goodness  of  an  action  is  to  be  found  in  connec- 
tion with  the  history  of  modern  slavery  in  the  New 
World.  In  general,  this  particular  phase  of  slavery 
has  been  defended  on  the  alleged  improvement  of 
the  slave's  condition  physically,  mentally,  morally ; 
and  it  has  been  especially  maintained  that  by  means 
of  this  institution  a  larger  number  of  the  lower  races 
have  been  brought  within  the  influence  of  Christian 
civilization  than  by  all  the  efforts  of  Christian 
missionaries  put  together.  This  was  a  plea  of  the 
first  Spanish  conquerors  in  Mexico,  in  Peru,  and  in 
other  parts  of  New  Spain. ^  Among  the  English 
race  it  continued  to  be  a  common  defence  of  slavery 

1  Prescott,  CoHijucst  of  Mexico^  Book  II.  ch.iptcr  i. ;  Conquest  of  Pent, 
Book  III.  cliapter  iii.  It  is  to  tlie  credit  of  tlie  Spanisli  Dominicans,  tiiat  they 
seem  to  have  been  unanimous,  unequivocal,  earnest,  in  their  denunciation  of 
the  system  {Conquest  of  Mexico,  Book  VII.  chapter  v.). 


)rtiii- 

(l  by 

rimi- 

klcnt 

cncc, 

3n  to 

cncfi- 

agcnt 

y    its 

dncss 

moral 

aircnt 

Agent 

ty  for 
id  the 
3nncc- 

New 
avcry 
cut  of 
M-ally  ; 
means 
races 
istian 
-istian 
f  the 
nd  in 
Inglish 
avery 

if  Peru, 
that  they 
liation  of 


THK    MORAI,   COXSCIOUSXI'.SS    AS    VUl,l  I'lOX. 


119 


from  llie  time  of  I'.lizabeth  to  the  American  Civil 
War  in  whicli  tlie  institution  went  down  ;  and  the 
plea  was  specious  enough  to  im[)()se  upon  Whitefield 
and  the  Moravian  missionaries  in  Georgia  during  last 
century.^  lUit  whatever  beneficent  purpose  slavery 
may  have  served  in  the  plan  of  human  history,  it  is 
impossible  in  general  to  trace  such  a  purpose  in  th. 
intentions  of  slave-trader  or  slaveh(jlder ;  and  the 
moral  character  of  the  slave-trader's  or  slaveholder's 
actions  must  be  determined,  not  by  the  idtimatc 
results  to  which  these  led  by  natural  causation,  but 
by  the  immediate  object  which  each  intended  to 
attain. 

The  reason  of  this  is  obvious.  To  intend  or  not 
to  intend  a  certain  result  is  always  within  the  power 
of  the  agent's  will  ;  and  therefore,  if  he  knows  or 
believes  a  certain  result  to  be  inconsistent  with  good- 
ness, and  yet  proceeds  to  work  out  that  result,  his 
action  must  be  morally  estimated  by  the  fact  that  he 
intended  to  perpetrate  what  he  knew  to  be  a  viola- 
tion of  the  moral  law. 

2.  But  so  far  intention  has  been  viewed  on  its 
purely  subjective  side,  on  which  it  is  under  the  con- 
trol of  the  individual  subject.  It  has,  however,  as 
already  stated,  an  objective  phase  as  well ;  and  in 
this  aspect  it  falls  under  the  conditions  of  the  objec- 
tive world,  which  are  beyond  the  individual's  control. 
It  is  always  within  the  individual's  power  to  regulate 
his  intentions  according  to  his  knowledge  of  what  is 
right ;   but    his  knowledge,  being  necessarily  know- 


1  Bancroft's ///'.v/c;;-;'  of  t/ie  Uniieti  States,  Vul.    II.  p.   1024  (Riuitljclge's 


ed.). 


I 


<    1 
1 . 


|! 


1 


r 

wM 

120 

1 

>                    lc(lf;c  of  ai 

the  objccti 

1  1 

hajipcn,  th: 

H  1 

is  right  so 

11  T 

i                   an  agent   i 

i'''i 

objective  1 

he  means 

not  had  a 

. .   > 

li;! ,  r 


I 


a 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO  KTIIICS. 


1  object,  is  depetident  on  the  conditions  of 
ve  world  to  whicli  it  refers.  It  may  thus 
at,  wliile  fully  and  earnestly  intending  what 
far  as  his  subjective  purpose  is  concerned, 
may  yet  fail  to  intend  what  is  right  as  an 
fact.  His  intention  is  subjectively  right, 
well ;  but  it  is  objectively  wrong,  he  has 
good  object  in  view  :  or,  to  express  it  by 
the  crasser  distinction  given  above,  he  has  fulfilkxl 
the  subjective  condition  of  goodness  by  acting  with  a 
good  intention  ;  but  he  has  failed  to  fulfil  the  objective 
condition  in  so  far  as  his  action  is  not  in  conformity 
with  the  objective  standard  of  goodness,  the  moral 
law. 

But  this  defect  docs  not,  like  the  former,  neces- 
sarily make  an  action  morally  bad.  It  may  still 
retain  a  certain  imperfect  moral  goodness,  just  be- 
cause its  imperfection  is  an  imperfection  of  know- 
ledge, and  our  knowledge  on  all  subjects  is  limited 
by  conditions  which  are  often,  though  not  always, 
beyond  our  control.  This  peculiar  imperfection  in 
o'l.r  morality,  therefore,  is  complicated  by  the  fact 
that  it  may  be  due  cither  to  voluntary  or  to  involun- 
tary causes.  These  alternatives  must  be  considered 
separately. 

(i)  The  failure  of  an  individual  to  find  out  the 
highest  requirements  of  the  moral  law  may  be  due 
to  causes  which  are  beyond  his  control.  The  evolu- 
tion of  human  intelligence  is  conditioned  by  numer- 
ous influences  of  time  and  space.  This  is  recognized 
in  all  departments  of  knowledge.  The  most  splen- 
did intelligence  of  the  ancient  world  could  not  pos- 


Tin:    MORA  I,  CONSCIOUSNESS   y\S   VOLITION'.        I2I 

sil)ly  become  acquainted  with  numerous  scientific 
trutiis  vvhicli,  after  beinj;  evolved  by  the  labors  of 
many  subsequent  inquirers  are  now  made  familiar 
to  every  child  at  school.  Moral  truths  are  not  ex- 
empt from  this  general  law.  In  fact,  there  is 
probably  no  phase  of  the  human  mind,  in  which  the 
conditions  of  evolution  arc  more  strikingly  mani- 
fested than  the  moral  intelligence ;  and  every  form 
of  historical  study  draws  much  of  its  interest,  as  well 
as  its  difficulty,  from  the  necessity  of  tracing  the 
changes  that  almost  every  new  generation  brings 
about  in  the  moral  conceptions  and  customs  of  men. 
This  affects  whole  sections  of  mankind,  as  well  as 
intlividuals. 

(a)  At  certain  stages  in  the  evolution  of  moral 
intelligence  entire  races  or  classes  may  be  precluded 
from  knowing  the  highest,  or  even  a  moderately  high, 
standard  of  duty.  In  fact,  some  savage  tribes  seem 
so  utterly  destitute  of  the  ideas,  so  utterly  regardless 
of  the  usages,  which  we  associate  indissolubly  with 
the  moral  life,  that  many,  who  have  had  opportunities 
of  forming  an  acquaintance  with  their  condition, 
have  pronounced  them  absolutely  void  of  moral  con- 
sciousness. The  average  human  being  can  never 
rise  much  above  the  prevalent  conceptions  of  his 
social  environment ;  and  it  is  due,  not  to  any  volun- 
tary shortcoming  so  much  as  to  the  force  of  natural 
conditions,  that  the  members  of  a  degraded  tribe  arc 
under  the  influence  of  defective  and  perverted  con- 
ceptions of  morality.  Even  in  the  midst  of  the 
highest  moral  civilization  that  the  world  has  ever 
attained,  every  class  of  society  may  have  its   moral 


ftoIi 


l\\\ 


122 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO   KTIIICS. 


m  m 


H 


m 


Ideas  stunted  or  distorted  l)y  its  peculiar  code  of 
honor  on  particular  cjuestions  ;  and  thus  the  various 
relations  of  lil'e  —  the  relations  of  the  sexes,  of  mas- 
ter and  slave,  of  employer  and  employee,  of  buyer 
and  seller,  of  political  partisans  —  are  often,  in  one 
social  circle,  the  subject  of  moral  judgments  that 
arc  scarcely  intelliL;ible  to  another. 

{/>)  In  like  manner,  particular  individuals,  even 
amid  social  surroundint^s  that  are  ^^enerally  favorable 
to  morality,  may  be  placed  at  times  under  peculiar 
conditions  that  warp  or  repress  the  development  of 
moral  consciousness  in  certain  directions.  Some- 
times the  bodily  constitution,  as  inherited  or  as 
accidentally  modified,  may  develop  or  intensify  vari- 
ous moral  prejudices  of  more  or  less  baneful  power, 
ICven  the  most  unprejudiced  moral  intelligence  may, 
on  particular  occasions,  be  prevented  by  isolated 
circumstances  or  incidents,  from  knowing  what  is 
best  to  be  done  ;  and  it  is  this  fact  which  leads  us 
often  to  the  reflection,  that  we  should  have  acted 
differently  if  7i'r  Jtad  kiioiK.'ii  better. 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  a  man  cannot  in  all 
circumstances  be  held  responsible  for  his  ignorance 
of  the  highest  requirements  of  the  moral  law  ;  and 
his  action  attains  that  relative  goodness  which  is 
alone  possible  to  humanity,  if  it  accords  with  the 
highest  ideal  which,  in  his  circumstances,  he  was 
capable  of  knowing,  even  though  this  ideal  may  be 
far  short  of  that  which,  in  more  favorable  circum- 
stances, he  might  have  conceived.  That  the  guilt  of 
an  offence  is  qualified  by  the  circumstances  of  the 
offender,  is  a  principle  recognized  in  the  administra- 


i  J    I , ! 


Tin:  M()i;.\i.  ( oNsciousNKss  AS  voi.iriox. 


123 


n  all 
mcc 
and 
1    is 

the 
was 
y  be 
turn- 
It  of 

the 
st  ra- 


tion of  luinian  justice  by  the  variation  of  penalties 
at  tiie  discretion  of  a  court  ;  vviiile  the  highest  rcli- 
j;ious  teaching:;  pronounces  it  to  l)e  a  law  of  (Uvine 
justice,  that,  "to  whomsoever  much  is  ^iven,  of  him 
shall  be  much  recpiired,"  and  that  in  the  *'  Day  of 
Judi^ment  "  it  will  be  more  tolerable  for  men  who 
have  fallen  into  evil  ways  amid  a  profound  moral 
<;ioom,  than  for  those  who,  in  tlie  enjoyment  of  a 
clearer  moral    lii^'ht,  have  yet   refused  to  accept   its 


[guidance. 


(2)  lUit  all  this  implies  that,  when  we  arc  not  to 
be  blamed  for  our  i<;norance  of  the  highest  moral 
re(|uirements,  that  i^^norance  must  be  due  to  causes 
which  are  beyond  our  control.  I<j;norancc,  however, 
on  any  subject,  is  not  of  necessity  involuntary,  Co-;- 
nition  is  far  from  beini;  a  i)urely  passive  or  receptive 
state  of  mind  ;  it  is  essentially  a  voluntary  activity, 
and  comes  thereby  within  the  moral  sphere.  If  this 
is  the  case  with  cognition  in  general,  obviously  it 
must  be  the  case  a  fortiori  with  those  cognitions 
whose  special  object  is  to  provide  rules  of  action  for 
the  guidance  of  life.  It  is,  therefore,  a  commonj^lace, 
not  only  of  scientific  Psychology,  but  even  of  pojni- 
lar  experience,  that,  in  the  affairs  of  practical  life 
far  more  than  in  the  region  of  purely  speculative 
truth,  judgment  is  apt  to  be  prejudicially  biassed  by 
every  influence  by  which  intelligence  can  be  impaired. 

(a)  The  prejudicial  influence  may  at  times  be  a 
general  defect,  either  of  that  negative  character  which 
arises  from  an  inadequate  training  of  the  conscience, 
or  of    that   positive  character  which   is  due  to  the 

'  Lukcxii.  47,  4S ;  M.itt.  \i.  20-24. 


'■r^ 


iiii 


ti!^ 


fh  ■'! 


Mil 


124 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


scaring  effect  of  a  vicious  life.  Or  (/-')  it  may  be  a 
more  special  cause  that  is  at  work  to  deprave  the 
ju(lL;ment.  We  may,  tor  example,  fail  froin  some 
disinclination  to  inform  ourselves  fully  of  all  the 
interests  which  are  involved  in  a  particular  case,  and 
a  knowledge  of  which  may  be  absolutely  indispensa- 
ble for  our  moral  guidance.  Or,  again,  we  may  allow 
some  particular  passion  —  envy,  jealousy,  ambition, 
avarice,  or  even  love  itself  —  so  to  dazzle  or  blind 
our  moral  vision,  as  to  render  us  incapable  of  seeing 
clearly  the  path  of  duty. 

It  is,  therefore,  often  the  fact,  that  a  man  may  be 
blamed,  not  only  for  failing  to  practise,  but  also  for 
failing  to  know,  the  requirements  of  the  moral  law ; 
and  while  such  ignorance  is  at  times  admitted  as  a 
valid  excuse  for  an  imperfect  morality,  there  are 
occasions  on  which  the  offender,  who  pleads  his  igno- 
rance as  an  excuse,  must  be  met  by  the  retort  that 
/u'  ouHit  to  Jiavc  kiunvu  better. 

Of  course  it  is  generally  impossible  for  us  to 
determine  with  certainty,  in  the  case  of  any  indi- 
vidual, whether  his  ignorance  of  the  highest  morality 
is  due  to  his  own  fault  or  to  causes  over  which  he  had 
no  control.  The  intermingling  of  human  motives  in 
almost  every  action  of  life  is  so  complicated,  that  no 
human  being  can,  as  a  rule,  disentangle  the  comjili- 
cation  even  in  his  own  mind,  while  this  complication 
forms  an  unfailing  plea  for  the  most  liberal  gener- 
osity in  our  judgment  of  others. 

"  Who  made  the  heart,  'tis  He  alone 
Decidedly  can  try  us  ; 
He  knows  each  chord  —  its  various  tone, 
I'.ach  spring — its  various  bias. 


Kit 

to 
uli- 
ity 
lad 
in 
no 
^\[- 
lon 
icr- 


TIIl!:    MORAL   CONSCIOUSNESS   AS   VOLITION.        1 25 

Then  at  the  balance  let's  be  niiitc, 

We  never  can  adjnst  it; 
What's  (lone  we  i)artly  may  compute, 

I'.ut  know  not  what's  resisted." 

The  fact,  then,  that  there  is  an  objective  standard 
to  which  our  action.s  should  conform,  does  not  mili- 
tate a<;ainst  the  doctrine  with  which  this  section 
opened,  that  the  moral  element  of  an  action  resides 
in  the  intention  with  which  it  is  done  ;  for  conform- 
ity to  the  standard  of  duty  can  be  required  of  any 
man  merely  in  so  far  as  by  voluntary  intention  he  is 
capable  of  knowing  what  the  standard  is.  Moral 
action  is  therefore  simply  action  with  an  intention 
with  an  end  in  view.  It  is,  in  other  words,  the  act 
of  a  self-conscious  being  who  is  cognizant  of  an  end 
for  himself,  and  capable  of  directing  the  powers  at 
his  disposal  so  as  to  attain  that  end.  To  express 
it  in  still  another  form,  moral  action  is  the  moral 
consciousness  considered  not  merely  as  the  cognition 
of  a  law,  or  as  emotionally  excited  by  its  contempla- 
tion, but  as  willing  an  object  in  relation  to  that  law. 

§  2.    T/w  Problem  of  J'oiition. 

So  far  there  is  general  agreement  in  regard  to  the 
nature  of  volition  or  moral  action  ;  it  is  an  intention 
in  actu  —  a  conscious  action  with  a  view  to  some 
end.  But  with  this  definition  it  still  remains  a  ques- 
tion whether  the  nature  of  moral  action  is  made 
sufficiently  distinct ;  whether,  in  fact,  there  is  not 
a  profounder  difference,  which  has  not  yet  been 
touched,  between  volition  and  every  other  form  of 
action.     All  action  is  conceived  as  an  event  in  time, 


i 


|P1 


■'( 


M'i . 


)) 


126 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO   KTIIICS. 


bearing  to  other  events  a  temporal  relation,  —  a  rela- 
tion of  before  or  after.  When  an  aetion  is  con- 
ceived under  this  relation  alone,  it  is  conceived  still 
further,  not  oiily  as  exercising  a  deterniiuing  in- 
fluence upon  events  that  come  after,  but  also  as 
itself  determined  by  events  that  have  gone  before. 
The  question  therefore  arises,  whether  the  actions 
of  a  self-conscious  being  are  fully  explained  when 
they  are  represented,  like  those  of  an  unconscious 
thing,  simply  as  events  in  time,  or  whether  they  do 
not  bear  some  higher  relation  which  prevents  them 
from  being  conceived  merely  as  temporal  phenomena, 
absolutely  determined  by  their  antecedents. 

As  already  stated,  we  are  often  inade  aware  that 
our  purposes  may  be  baffled  by  an  overruling  l^ower 
that  works  through  the  world  of  external  circum- 
stance, and  shuts  us  up  at  times  to  a  fate  against 
which  all  our  voluntary  exertions  are  vain.  All 
through  human  life  there  is  thus  apt  to  appear  a 
conflict  between  man  and  his  circumstances,  and  this 
conflict  probably  forms  the  source  of  the  deepest 
interest  that  human  history  can  excite.  For  all  the 
tragedy  of  life,  it  has  been  said,  derives  its  pathos  — 
its  power  of  touching  the  heart  —  from  picturing  the 
victory  either  of  man  over  circumstances,  or  of  cir- 
cumstances over  man.  What  is  the  nature  of  the 
victory  which  may  thus  crown  the  struggles  of  man  ? 
Does  it  imply  a  veritable  independence  on  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  temporal  environment } 

In  discussing  this  question  we  must  be  limited 
to  its  psychological  and  ethical  aspects,  avoiding 
theological  implications  with  which  it  is  often  need- 


ISt 


the 


no 


ted 
ing 
cd- 


TIIK    MORAL   CONSCIOUSNESS    AS    VOl.ITIoX.       12/ 

Icssly  perplexed.     The  relation  of  the  Infinite  Being 
to  His  finite  ereatures  cannot,  except  for  popular  illus- 
tration, be  compared  to  the  relation  between  a  finite 
cause  and  its  finite  effect.     To  describe  the  agency 
of  the  Infinite  Being  in  terms  of  finite  causation  would 
imply  that  He   enters,  as  a  temporal   phenomenon, 
into  the    stream    of   temporal  phenomena,  not  only 
to  determine  consequents,   but  also  to   be    Himself 
determined  by    antecedents.     Such    an    implication, 
however,  contradicts   the   conception  of  an   Infinite 
Being ;   and  consequently  He  cannot  be  introduced 
here  as  a  Dcus  ex  macJiina  to  prove  that  the  actions 
of  man  are  absolutely  determined  by  a  cause  external 
to  themselves.     Moreover,  the  creation  of  a  moral 
world,  as  distinct  from  the  world  of  nature,  implies 
such  an  arrangement    on    the    part    of   the   Infinite 
Creator   as  at  least   to  leave  scope  for  the  agency 
of  beings  who  are  not  absolutely  determined  to  act 
merely  as  He  wills,  and  can  therefore  be  by  Him 
held  to  account   for   the   actions    which    they  have 
themselves   determined.     Nor   does   it    require    any 
difficult  or  unreasonable  hypothesis  to  conceive  that 
a  great  variety  of  alternatives  may  be  left  open  to 
the  freedom  of  moral  agents,  and  yet  Infinite  Wis- 
dom  and   Power   may   so   order  the  general  plan  of 
the  moral  world  as  to  secure  with  absolute  certainty 
the  final  realization  of  that  plan  in  the  event  of  any 
})ossible   alternative.     Consequently,    so    far  as    the 
problem  of  volition  bears  upon  the  relation  between 
the  finite  activity  of  man  and  the  infinite  activity  of 
God,  we  may  fairly  leave  it  to  the  science  of  Theol- 
ogy;  and  we  shall  thereft)re  treat  it  here  simply  as  a 
problem  in  the  Psychology  of  Ethics. 


\: 


i!i 


,.  'Hi 


Ife 


I_\S 


M 


pi, 


AN    IXTKODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


In  the  solution  of  this  problem  we  come  upon  two 
antagonis^^ic  theories  which  are  radically  identical 
with  those  two  divergent  tendencies  of  speculation 
that  have  been  already  described  as  running  through 
the  whole  history  of  human  thought.  It  must  not  be 
supposed,  however,  that  the  adherents  of  the  oppo- 
site theories  always  cling  to  their  logical  allies  ;  on 
the  contrary,  they  will  often  be  found  on  both  sides 
in  alliances  of  the  most  unexpected  kind. 

(A)  One  theory,  then,  holds  that,  whatever  dis- 
tinction may  be  drawn  between  volitions  and  other 
actions,  there  is  no  difference  so  far  as  the  law  of 
causality  is  concerned.  According  to  this  law,  every 
phenomenon  is  absolutely  determined  by  some  ante- 
cedent phenomenon  or  phenomena ;  and  conse- 
quently this  theory  holds  that  every  action  of  man 
receives  its  definite  character  from  the  immediately 
antecedent  circumstances  in  which  it  was  done,  it 
being  understood  that  antecedent  circumstances  com- 
prehend the  condition  of  the  agent  himself  as  well 
as  the  condition  of  his  environment.  The  manifold 
agencies  in  the  physical  world  excite  their  multi- 
tudinous tremors  in  che  nervous  system:  these  arc 
followed  by  appropriate  states  of  consciousness,  — 
feelings,  cognitions,  desires ;  and  the  phenomena, 
which  we  call  volitions,  are  merely  further  links  of 
the  same  chain.  Every  volition,  therefore,  on  this 
theory,  is  regarded  simply  as  an  event  in  time, 
wholly  determined,  like  any  other  event,  by  events 
preceding. 

This  has  been  commonly  called  in  former  times 
the  Theory  of  Necessity,  and  its  su^.p-^rtcrs  Neces- 


on 


mcs 

CCS- 


TIIK    MORA  I.   CONSCIOUSNESS    AS    VOLITION.       1 29 

sitarians  or  Necessarians.  Recent  advocates  of  the 
theory,  however,  generally  object  to  the  term  Neces- 
sity, as  implying  compulsion  without  consent,  whereas 
the  theory  regards  the  consent  of  the  agent,  though 
a  consent  caused  by  antecedent  events,  as  one  of  the 
conditions  of  a  voluntary  action.  On  this  account 
Determinism  has  been  suggested,  and  is  now  gen- 
erally adopted,  as  a  preferable  designation  of  the 
theory.  It  is  perhaps  worth  wliile  to  add  that  the 
objections  to  Fatalism  and  cognate  expressions  are 
stronger  than  to  any  terms  involving  necessity ;  for 
Fatalism  is  commonly  associated,  not  so  much  with 
a  speculative  theory  as  wii.:.  a  practical  attitude  in 
reference  to  futurities  supposed  to  be  so  certain  as 
to  render  i'  cuitagonistic  effort  unavailable,  even 
when  their  certainty  depends  obviously  on  the 
absence  of  any  such  effort. 

Without  going  into  the  older  literature  of  the  sub- 
ject  the  student  will  find,  among  more  modern  dis- 
cussions, perhaps  the  most  satisfactory  exposition  of 
Determinism  in  Mill's  "Logic"  (Book  VI.,  especially 
chapter  ii.),  with  which  may  be  compared  his  "  Exam- 
ination of  Hamilton's  Philosophy "  (chapter  xxvi.), 
and  Bain's  "Emotions  and  Will  "  (Part  II.,  chapter  ii.). 

{B)  The  opposite  theory  maintains,  in  one  form  or 
another,  that  there  is  an  essential  difference  between 
volitions  and  other  events,  and  that  their  character  is 
not  to  be  interpreted,  like  that  of  other  events,  solely 
by  referring  to  the  antecedent  circumstances  in 
which  they  were  done.  Recognizing  thus  a  certain 
freedom  from  the  determinations  of  natural  law,  this 
theory  is  spoken  ot  as  the  doctrine  of  Liberty,  or  of 


luli 


s:*\ 


Ii 


iP 


I!    '' 


), 


m  i) 


fn 


130 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO  ETHICS. 


tlic  l''rcc(l()ni  of  the  Will ;  while  its  suppor  rs  arc 
sometimes  called  Libertarians.  This  theory  must 
not,  however,  be  confounded  with  a  doctrine,  with 
which  it  has  unfortunately  allied  itself  at  times,  but 
which  may  be  discarded  at  once  as  not  only  unten- 
able, but  even  meaningless.  The  doctrine  in  ques- 
tion contends  for  a  sort  of  freedom  which  has  been 
styled  the  "liberty  of  indifference,"  that  is,  a  power 
to  act  free  from  the  influence  of  any  motive  what- 
ever. Whether  such  a  freedom  can  be  claimed  for 
man  or  not,  it  is  not  worth  claiming ;  for  a  motive- 
less act  cannot  be  an  intelligent  act,  since  it  implies 
no  intelligence  of  the  end  which  the  act  is  designed 
to  accomplish.  It  is  thus  evident  that  liberty  of 
indifference,  even  if  it  exists,  can  have  no  connection 
with  the  problem  of  volition  ;  for  a  volition  is  pre- 
cisely an  act  with  a  conscious  motive,  and  a  motive- 
less volition  would,  therefore,  be  a  contradiction  in 
terms. 

One  of  the  fullest  and  ablest  expositions  of  the 
Libertarian  theory,  as  it  is  held  at  the  present  day, 
will  be  found  in  Green's  "  Prolegomena  to  Ethics," 
especially  Book  I.,  chapter  iii.,  and  Book  II. 

As  the  problem  of  these  rival  theories  is  for  us  a 
problem  in  the  Psychology  of  Ethics,  our  interest  in 
it  may  perhaps  be  most  effectively  served  by  looking 
at  it  in  its  psychological  and  ethical  aspects. 

I.  The  psychological  aspect  of  this  controversy 
presents  it  as  one  affecting  the  nature  and  origin  of 
human  consciousness  in  general, 

(i)  Take,  first  of  all,  the  view  of  this  subject 
which  is  enforced  by  Determinism.     Though  a  cer- 


the 

day, 
lies, 

us  a 

(st  in 

king 

rersy 
lin  of 

pjeet 
cer- 


Tlir:   MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS   AS   VOLITION.       131 

tain  form  of  this  tiieory  has  often  been  maintained 
by  theologians  of  the  Augustinian  and  Calvinistic 
schools,  and  though  it  has  often  formed  a  prominent 
conviction  in  minds  attached  to  a  morality  of  a  most 
pronounced  religious  type,  yet  the  doctrine  tends  at 
tlie  present  day  to  ally  itself  more  distinctly  with 
that  general  theory  of  man's  origin  which  regards 
him  as,  in  mind  and  body  alike,  merely  the  last  evo- 
lution of  organic  nature  on  our  planet.  According 
to  this  view,  man's  consciousness  is  simply  the  prod- 
uct of  the  forces  in  his  environment  acting  on  his 
complicated  sensible  organism,  and  of  that  organism 
reacting  on  the  environment.  His  consciousness, 
therefore,  stands  related  to  other  phenomena  pre- 
cisely as  these  are  related  to  one  another,  each  being 
acted  upon  by  the  rest,  and  reacting  upon  them  so 
that  all  are  absolutely  determined  by  this  reciprocity 
of  action.  On  this  view  man's  self  is  not  a  real 
unity  that,  by  its  unifying  power,  forms,  out  of  an 
unintelligible  multiplicity  of  sensations,  the  intelligi- 
ble order  of  his  sensible  world  ;  it  is  a  mere  name 
for  a  factitious  aggregate  of  mental  states  that  happen 
to  come  together.  The  only  actual  self  is  the  sum 
of  the  feelings  which  make  up  the  consciousness  of 
any  moment ;  and  the  actual  self  therefore  differs 
with  all  the  variation  of  our  feelings.  Such  a  self 
evidently  offers  no  conceivable  source  of  any  activity 
that  is  not  determined  absolutely  by  natural  causation, 
(2)  On  the  other  hand,  the  doctrine  of  Liberty, 
while  maintaining  that  voluntary  action  is  not  abso- 
lutely determined  or  completely  explained  by  the  laws 
of   nature,  does   not,  as    already   observed,    contend 


n 


i" 


! :  It 


Hi 


\f  'i , 


i  -n' 


m 


132 


AN    INTRODUCTION    To   KTHICS. 


for  that  freedom  from  law  which  seems  to  be  meant 
by  the  so-called  liberty  of  indifference.  The  actions 
which  are  commonly  s})()ken  of  as  lawless,  —  as  arbi- 
trary, capricious,  licentious,  —  so  far  from  being  vin- 
dications of  freedom,  in  reality  involve  a  surrendc: 
of  true  freedom,  —  the  freedom  of  a  self-consciou.s, 
rational  activity,  —  and  a  subjection  to  the  imi)ulse 
of  unreasoning  passion,  or  perhaps  of  mere  physical 
stimulation.  The  sway  of  law  is  not  a  negation  of 
freedom,  unless  it  is  imposed  on  the  self-conscious 
agent  by  some  power  foreign  to  his  will ;  if  the  law  is 
consciously  adopted  by  himself  for  the  governance  of 
his  life,  then  his  subjection  to  the  law  is  a  practical 
assertion  —  a  realization  —  of  his  freedom  as  a  rational 
agent. 

In  like  manner,  the  Freedom  of  the  Will,  though 
opposed  to  any  purely  empirical  theory  of  evolution, 
is  by  no  means  hostile  to  Evolutionism  when  freed 
from  its  empirical  associations.  On  the  contrary,  the 
Libertarian  cannot  but  represent  the  process  of  the 
universe  as  an  orderly  progression  ;  and  that  is  the 
fundamental  idea  conveyed  by  evolution  or  develop- 
ment. For  the  doctrine,  which  asserts  the  indepen- 
dence of  intelligent  activity  on  the  order  of  nature, 
must  hold  that  intelligence  is  not  to  be  interpreted 
by  that  order,  but  that  that  order  is  to  be  inter- 
preted in  terms  of  intelligence.  On  this  view,  the 
whole  process  of  nature  must  be  conceived  as  the  un- 
folding of  the  sublime  plan  of  a  Supreme  Intelligence, 
so  that  each  new  stage  in  the  process  is  a  rational 
consequence  from  the  preceding.  But  while  the 
order  of  nature  is  thus  represented  as  the  revelation 


Tlir.   MOUAI,  CONSCIOUSNESS   AS   VOLITION. 


^3i 


of  intcHi<;cncc,  it  is  impossible  that  intelligence  can 
ever,  in  any  form,  be  the  mere  product  of  that  order. 
That  order  may  be  conceived  to  have  been  so  directed 
through  countless  millenniums  as  to  prepare  a  fit 
stage  for  the  activity  of  finite  intelligences  like  man  ; 
but,  in  so  far  as  these  are  intelligences,  they  cannot 
be  the  mere  products  of  any  order  of  forces  which  are 
themselves  unintelligent.  As  intelligences,  they  arc 
made  in  the  image  of  the  Creative  Intelligence,  and 
must,  to  that  extent,  transcend  the  order  of  nature. 
In  truth,  man  does  in  reality  transcend  the  order  of 
nature  in  the  very  fact  that  he  is  conscious  of  it.  To 
think  and  speak  consciously  of  that  order  implies 
that  he  is  not  merely  a  part  of  it,  but  that  he  con- 
templates it  from  a  standpoint  from  which  he  is  able 
to  survey  it  as  a  whole  distinct  from  himself. 

The  self-conscious  intelligence,  therefore,  stands 
related  to  the  objects  of  the  natural  world,  not 
simply  as  these  are  related  to  each  other ;  he  is 
contradistinguished  from  the  whole  of  them  in  a 
way  in  which  each  is  not  contradistinguished  from 
the  others,  as  the  intelligent  interpreter  without 
whom  they  could  form  no  intelligible  system.  This 
system  is  formed  of  parts  which  are  construed  as 
liolding  relations  of  reciprocal  causality;  but  the 
intelligence,  that  construes  the  system,  is  not  simply 
one  of  the  parts,  whose  action  is  absolutely  deter- 
mined by  the  action  of  the  rest. 

It  is  this  distinction  of  self  from  the  universe  of 
not-selvcs,  that  alone  renders  intelligible  the  cogni- 
tion of  that  universe.  It  is  also  the  independence  of 
self  on  the  universe  of  not-selves,  that  alone  renders 


.||: 


I'iil 


\fiV 


♦Ir^' 


ir  f 


134 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   F/niirs. 


intelligible  its  voluntary  action  on  that  universe. 
For  a  volition  is  not  an  act  in  wliich  I  am  impelled 
by  natural  forces  beatin,;:^  on  my  sensitive  or^ijanism ; 
it  is  an  act  in  which  I  consciously  set  before  myself 
an  end,  and  determine  myself  towards  its  attain- 
ment. The  very  nature,  therefore,  of  volition  would 
be  contradicted  by  a  description  of  it  in  terms  which 
would  brinjj;  it  under  the  catei^ory  of  causality. 

This  freedom  of  the  self  from  determination  by 
the  world  of  objects  is  the  fact  which  alone  explains, 
without  explainin;^  away,  the  consciousness  that 
there  is  within  us  a  centre  of  intellij^ent  activity 
which  is,  in  the  last  resort,  imprejj;nable  by  any 
assaults  oi  mere  force.  You  may  api)ly  to  my  organ- 
ism su})erior  forces  of  or^^anic  or  inorganic  bodies, 
and  compel  it  to  act  as  you  wish,  or  prevent  //  from 
acting  as  I  wish.  But  there  is  one  thing  which 
mere  force  —  force  without  reason  —  cannot  do  :  it 
cannot  compel  Me.^ 

2.  The  ethical  significance  of  this  controversy  can, 
of  course,  be  fully  elucidated  only  by  explaining  the 
fundamental  conceptions  of  morality,  which  form  the 
subject  of  the  next  l^ook  :  but  the  questions  at  issue 
in  the  controversy  will  be  better  understood  by  a 
brief  indication  of  their  bearing  on  those  moral  con- 
ceptions. It  requires  but  little  reflection  to  discover 
that  these  conceptions  must  be  understood  in  a 
totally  different  sense  by  the  adherents  of  the  two 
theories. 

1  In  the  above  discussion  on  tlic  psyclioloc^ical  aspect  of  tliis  controversy,  I 
have  here  and  there  adopted,  vviLli  slight  iiiDditication,  a  few  sentences  from 
my  Handbook  of  Psychology,  pp.  427-430. 


w 


,  t 


TJIH   MORAL  CONSCIOUSNKSS   AS   VOMTION.       1 35 

All  Ihc  facts  of  moral  life  gather  around  the 
principle  of  moral  obligation  or  rcs})onsil)ility.  This 
princi})lc  implies  that,  as  I  am  under  an  obligation 
to  act  in  a  particular  way,  I  must  be  helil  responsible, 
answerable,  accountable,  for  the  fulfilment  of  this 
obligation.  In  other  words,  when  any  question  is 
raised  as  to  the  character  of  my  action,  it  is  /  who 
must  answer  or  respond  ;  when  the  action  is  to  be 
accounted  for,  the  account  must  be  given  by  vie. 
This  is  the  fact  to  be  explained:  what  are  the  expla- 
nations of  the  Determinist  and  the  Libertarian 
respectively  ? 

(i)  Some  Determinists,  recognizing  the  full  sig- 
nificance of  their  theory  that  all  actions  are  simply 
natural  events,  bluntly  deny  responsibility  altogether. 
This  was  the  })osition  of  Robert  Owen  ;  and  many  of 
the  social  reforms  which  he  advocated  were  based  on 
the  assumption  that  crime  and  all  kinds  of  moral  im- 
perfection are  simply  misfortunes  —  diseases  to  be 
cured  by  an  application  of  the  proper  remedies. 
With  this  view  all  punishment,  as  commonly  under- 
stood, must  be  abolished  from  society,  and  in  its 
place  must  be  substituted  various  educative  disci- 
plines adapted  to  cultivate  proper  moral  habits. 

If,  however,  Det  jrminists  shrink  from  such  an 
absolute  denial  of  responsibility,  this  extreme  can  be 
avoided  only  by  explaining  responsibility  in  a  pecul- 
iar manner,  —  in  a  manner  which  can  scarcely  be 
regarded  in  any  other  light  than  as  explaining  away 
the  meaning  usually  attached  to  the  term.  The 
Determinist,  of  course,  cannot  understand  obligation 
or  responsibility  as  implying  that  any  moral  agent 


■/% 


.  .  1 


I 


hi 


•  I 


136 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


could  ever,  in  the  cireunistances  in  which  he  was 
placed,  have  done  a  different  action  from  that  which 
he  actually  did  ;  he  cannot  admit  any  real  obli^^ation 
to  act  otherwise,  or  any  real  responsibility  for  not 
having  fulfdled  such  an  impossible  obligation.  But 
most  Determinists  seek  some  meaning  in  the  com- 
mon language  of  morality  ;  and,  as  partly  indicated 
already,  they  find  that  meaning  in  the  actual  con- 
sequences of  moral  action.  They  are  sometimes 
caught  by  popular  phrases  in  which  responsibility  is 
connected  with  threatened  consequences,  such  as, 
"  You  shall  be  called  to  account,"  or  "  You  shall 
answer  for  it ; "  and,  overlooking  the  fact  that  these 
very  phrases  point  to  the  character  of  a  past  action 
as  something  which  calls  for  punishment,  they  inter- 
pret the  phrases  as  meaning  merely  that  painful 
consequences  will  follow.  As  Mr.  Mill  briefly  puts 
it,  "responsibility  means  punishment."^ 

Obviously  on  this  explanation  punishment  itself 
assumes,  as  with  those  who  deny  responsibility 
altogether,  a  peculiar  meaning.  The  Determinists 
would  not  blame  an  offender  for  having  broken  a 
moral  law,  as  if  he  could  have  acted  otherwise. 
They  would  address  him  in  this  strain :  "  Your 
action  is  unpleasant  to  others,  if  not  to  yourself. 
You  are  acting,  it  is  true,  in  obedience  to  existing 
forces  ;  but  as  the  effect  of  these  forces  is  unpleasant, 
we  are  determined  by  the  forces  acting  upon  us  to 
bring  an  additional  force  to  play  upon  you,  —  we 
will  try  to  form  an  association  in  your  mind  between 
your  action  and  a  painful  result  to  yourself,  in  the 

i  Examinaiion  of  Hamilton''  s  Fhiloso/>liy,  p.  506  (ist  cd.). 


I 


the 


TIIK   MOKAT,  rONSCIOUSNKSS    AS    Voi.IIIoN. 


137 


hope   that    this    may    create    a    sufficient   motive  to 
prevent  you  from  such  action  in  future." 

(2)  To  the  Lihertariau,  on  the  other  hand,  moral 
obh^ation  and  responsibility  assume  a  wholly  differ- 
ent meaning.  He  recognizes  as  a  reality  a  law 
which  ought  to  be  obeyed,  whether  it  is  actually 
obeyed  or  not, — a  state  of  things  which  ought  to 
be,  even  if  the  laws  of  natural  causation  do  not 
bring  it  about.  He  recognizes  also,  as  we  have  seen, 
a  power  in  man  transcending  the  order  of  natural 
causes,  and  able  to  assert  the  ideal  order  which 
ought  to  be.  It  is  by  this  transcendental  power, 
according  to  the  theory  of  Liberty,  and  not  merely 
by  natural  causation,  that  the  actions  of  man  are  to 
be  accounted  for  ;  and  consequently  he  can  be  held 
really  accountable  for  any  failure  to  assert  the 
transcend  ntal  moral  order. 


^l 


I  I 


li'i 


Mi; 


Il\ 


Is     ■' :  « 


li' 


■' 


>H 


If 


M   ; 


vf 


I 


BOOK    II. 


ETHICS    PROPER. 


We  now  pass  to  a  region  of  inquiry  which  is  no 
lonr^cr  purely  psycholoj^ical,  which  forms  the  distinct 
subject  of  the  science  called  I'.thics  in  the  strictest 
use  of  the  name.  The  phenomena,  with  which  wc 
have  been  occupied  hitherto,  have  indeed  been  spoken 
of  as  ethical  or  moral ;  but  they  have  been  treated 
simply  as  matter  of  psychological  inquiry.  That  is 
to  say,  they  have  been  viewed  in  their  purely  subjec- 
tive aspect,  with  reference  to  the  innumerable  varie- 
ties of  form  under  which  they  appear  in  the  moral 
consciousness  of  different  individuals,  as  well  as  of 
different  races  and  classes,  of  mankind.  But  now  it 
is  our  task,  leaving  behind  the  subjective  and  partic- 
ular variations  in  the  moral  life  of  men,  to  find  out 
its  objective  and  universal  standard. 

The  fulfilment  of  this  task  implies,  first  of  all,  an 
inquiry  into  the  Supreme  Law  of  Duty.  But  this 
law  cannot  be  understood  when  it  is  viewed  merely 
in  its  abstract  universality.  Its  significance  can  be 
realized  only  by  a  scientific  examination,  and  that 
means  some  systematic  classification  of  the  duties 
which  flow  from  the  law  when  it  is  applied  to  the 
special  relations  of  human  life.  lUit  the  significance 
of  this  law  implies  somethiiig  more.      As   a  moral 

'39 


I* 


} 


!■'. 


1^^ 
{  1 


»j 


.'  , 


140 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


law,  it  possesses  not  only  the  speculative  interest 
which  belongs  to  any  mere  law  of  nature  ;  its  inter- 
est is  rather  essentially  practical.  Although  it  is  the 
objective  standard  of  human  life,  it  yet  cannot  be 
treated  as  if  it  were  wholly  external  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, its  significance  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  is  to  be 
adopted  as  the  internal  motive  by  which  our  actions 
are  to  be  governed,  and  our  entire  lives  are  to  be 
shaped.  When  it  is  thus  assumed  into  the  internal 
regulation  of  human  life,  it  is  no  longer  a  mere  (///ty 
to  be  observed,  it  has  become  a  virtue  achieved. 
There  are  thus  three  topics  which  are  naturally  sug- 
gested by  the  science  of  Ethics  Proper  —  (i)  the 
Supreme  Law  of  Duty,  (2)  the  Classification  of  the 
Special  Duties  of  Life,  and  (3)  the  Realization  of 
Duty  in  Virtue.  We  shall  accordingly  divide  this 
Book  into  three  Parts. 


'■\  f 


'<•  t  ! 


PART  I. 

THE   SUPREME    LAW    OF    DUTY. 

What  is  duty  ?  Literally,  of  course,  the  word 
means  anything  which  is  due,  —  anything  which  is 
oiuing ;  and  it  is,  therefore,  applied  to  an  action  which 
ought  to  be  done.^ 


1  Due  is  obviously  tlie  French  dfi,  participle  of  devoir ;  and  this  again  is 
tlic  Frencli  representative  of  tlie  Latin  (icdere  {iie-/ial>e>-e,  de-avoir,  to  liave  or 
hold  from  another,  to  owe).  Due,  debt,  and  debit ^  all  representing  the  parti- 
ciple debit iDH,  are,  therefore,  all  originally  the  same  word.  Ottgkt  is  obviously 
the  preterite  of  owe,  used  as  a  present.  The  preterite  should  is  used  in  the 
same  way  to  express  a  present  obligation,  though  in  the  technical  language  of 
laws  the  grammatical  present  s/iall  retains  its  place :  "  Thou  shalt  not  steal," 
Shall  (A.  S.  seeal )  meant  originally  to  oxve,  and  was,  in  fact,  used  in  that 
sense  so  late  as  by  Chaucer:  "  Hy  the  faitii  I  shall  to  God"'  ("  The  Court  of 
I.ove").  In  Greek,  rd  KdOiiKov  ("what  is  fit  or  proper"')  is  said  to  have  re- 
ceived its  ethical  application  first  from  Zeno  the  Stoic  (Diog.  La'ert.,  VII.  25) : 
but  the  Stoics  used  also  a  word  of  higher  import,  (curdpOw/in,  to  denote  an  action 
which  is  right  in  tlie  fullest  sense  of  the  term,  as  being  not  only  in  accordance 
with  external  requirements,  but  done  with  a  right  intention.  In  Latin,  Cicero 
translated  KuOiiKov  by  ojfieiitin  {Dc  Offieiis,  I.  3).  In  English  ethical  litera- 
ture, Hentham  coined  the  term  Deontology  for  the  Science  of  Duty,  taking 
TO  Mnv  rather  tiian  tu  khQ^kov  as  the  proper  w'ord  to  express  obligation.  The 
term  is  also  used  by  the  modern  Italian  philosopher  Rosmini,  though  in  a 
much  wider  sense  tlian  by  Hentham  (Davidson's  '•  Philosophical  System  of 
Antonio  Rosmini,"  pp.  350-3S1)).  Like  Mill's  "Ethology."  however,  the 
coinage  of  Bentham  and  Rosmini  has  never  gained  currency  in  philosophical 
literature. 

141 


I  I 


!      tf 


i 


i 


m 


i  -  ■■  I 


yi 


142 


AN   IXTRODUCTION  TO  ETHICS. 


\Vc  have  already  seen  that,  to  the  moral  conscious- 
ness, the  distinctive  aspect  under  which  moral  actions 
l^resent  themselves  is  as  actions  which  ought  or  ought 
not  to  be  done.  We  have  also  seen,  however,  that  in 
the  moral  consciousness  of  different  individuals,  as 
well  as  of  different  races  and  classes,  there  is  a  vari- 
ety of  opinion  as  to  the  quality  or  standard  by  which 
actions  that  ought  to  be  done  are  differentiated  from 
others.  Accordingly  a  scientific  studv  of  moral  ac- 
tion requires  that  we  should  eliminate  dl  these  sub- 
jective variations  in  regard  to  the  morality  of  actions, 
and  arrive  at  an  objective  standard  which  can  be 
applied  equally  to  all  men. 

We  have  seen  further,  that  a  moral  action  is  an 
action  done  with  a  view  to  some  end  ;  and  we  have 
also  seen  that  a  law  or  rule  for  the  guidance  of  action 
is  given  by  pointing  to  an  end  which  the  action  may 
attain.  This  results  from  the  fact  that  a  moral 
action  is  an  action  of  a  self-conscious  intelligence, 
of  a  being  who  is  not  simply  impelled  to  act  like 
an  unintelligent  thing,  but  who,  being  conscious  of 
the  ends  which  his  actions  are  adapted  to  produce, 
can  direct  his  actions  so  as  to  secure  the  ends  he 
desires. 

Now,  a  distinction  has  been  already  drawn  between 
ihe  immediate  ends  to  which  our  actions  are  primarily 
directed,  and  the  remoter  ends  to  which  these  serve 
as  mere  means.  But  it  is  evident  that  in  the  last 
analysis  there  must  be  some  end  of  human  action 
which  is  supreme,  —  some  object  of  human  intelli- 
gence which  must  be  conceived  as  an  end  in  itself, 
and  not  merely  as  a  means  to  some  ulterior  object. 


i«ii: 


\ 


THE   SUrUEME    EAW    OF    DUTY. 


143 


lily 


Consequently  scientific  inquiry  into  the  supreme 
standard  or  law  by  whicli  our  actions  ought  to  be 
governed  has  from  tlie  first  taken  the  form  of  an 
inquiry  into  the  supreme  end  —  the  nh>:  ov  Jiiiis  —  to 
which  all  our  actions  should  ultimately  point. 

Further,  all  the  ends  of  huiuan  action  are,  of 
course,  objects  of  intelligence  ;  and  such  objects  of 
intelligence  become  ends  of  action  simply  because 
they  commend  themselves  in  some  way  to  intelligent 
beings.  But  an  object,  which  thus  commends  itself 
by  giving  any  kind  of  satisfaction  to  an  intelligent 
being,  is  conceived  by  him  as  good ;  and  therefore 
the  Chief  VamX  of  Man  is  commonly  also  spoken  of 
as  the  Sovereign  Good  —  xu  u^uOuv  or  sinin/iitui  boiiujii 
—  of  human  life. 

The  problem,  then,  which  we  are  here  called  to 
solve,  reduces  itself  to  the  question.  What  is  the 
Sovereign  Good  which,  as  forming  the  ultimate  end 
of  all  human  endeavor,  prescribes  the  Supreme  Law 
of  Duty,  by  which  all  our  actions  should  be  gov- 
erned .-'  On  this  question  speculation  has  from  the 
beginning  diverged  in  very  various  lines  ;  but  through 
all  these  divergent  lines  two  main  directions  may  be 
traced,  accorchng  as  they  do,  or  do  not,  point  to 
pleasure  as  that  which  is  alone  capable  of  giving 
absolute  satisfaction  to  man,  and  which  is,  therefore, 
the  essential  constituent  of  all  goodness  in  human 
action.  These  two  antagonistic  directions  of  ethical 
speculation  were  for  centuries  represented  mainly  by 
two  great  schools  which  arose  in  Athens  almost  con- 
temporaneously  towards  the  close  of  the  fourth  cen- 
tury B.C.,  —  the  Epicurean  and  the  Stoical.      There 


III 


li 


'!|' 


i  ; 


; 


'Js.t 


I''  •' 


144 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


'j 


is,  therefore,  a  certain  appropriateness,  while  there  is 
an  obvious  convenience,  in  classifying  the  various 
theories  of  morality  under  these  two  heads.  We 
shall  accordingly  divide  the  present  Part  into  two 
chapters. 


«  . 


n  i 


i| 


'^ 


1:1 


['"       " 


l!!i 

i 

i 

If 

IS 
)US 

Ve 
wo 


CHAPTER   I. 


EPICUREAN    THEORIES. 


if 


TuK  common  characteristic  of  the  Epicurean  Theo- 
ries of  Morals  is,  that  they  make  the  goodness  of  an 
action  consist  in  its  power  of  giving  pleasure,  l^iit 
this  general  doctrine  admits  of  numerous  modifica- 
tions on  special  points. 

I.  Perhaps  the  most  radical  divergence  among  the 
adherents  of  the  general  theory  is  in  the  conception 
of  pleasure  by  which  they  determine  the  value  of 
human  life.  Some  find  the  only  real  good,  if  not  in 
the  gratifications  of  sense,  at  least  in  the  transient 
delights  of  the  moment ;  while  others  recognize  no 
real  good,  except  in  a  happiness  so  general  as  to 
embrace  the  whole  of  human  nature,  and  so  perma- 
nent as  to  extend  through  the  whole  of  human  life. 
These  two  forms  of  Epicurean  speculation  are  not 
always  distinguished  in  the  language  of  Ethics  ;  but 
there  are  two  terms  often  used  interchangeably, 
which  might,  with  great  propriety,  be  employed  to 
express  this  distinction.  The  theory,  which  founds 
the  good  of  man  on  the  pleasure  of  the  nioment, 
might  be  named  Hedonism  (a  term  formed  from  the 
ordinary  Greek  v/ord  for  pleasure,  yjdoi'i\);  while 
Eudemonism  (from  i-vSutiwi'Ut,  happiness),  might  be 
reserved  for  the  theory  which  adopts  the  nobler  con- 

'45 


^ir 


'    .\l^ 


A  ! 


is 


m 


r 


.« . 


146 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


ccption  of  pleasure.  In  this  latter  form  it  will  be 
found  that  the  Epicurean  ideal  approaches  that 
satisfaction  of  reason  which  forms  the  ideal  of  the 
Stoic.  It  is  the  ideal  of  Epicurus  himself,  and 
probably  of  most  Epicurean  thinkers,  ancient  and 
modern. 

II.  Another  radical  difference  between  different 
representatives  of  Epicurean  Ethics  arises  in  answer- 
ing the  question,  Whose  pleasure  is  it  that  consti- 
tutes the  goodness  of  an  action  ?  Is  it  the  j^leasure 
of  the  agent  himself  that  is  to  be  considered  ;  or  is 
it  the  pleasure,  if  not  of  all  mankind,  at  least  of  all 
who  are  affected  by  his  action  ?  The  adoption  of 
the  former  alternative  characterizes  the  various  theo- 
ries which  older  writers  described  as  Selfish,  but 
which,  for  reasons  already  explained,^  are  now  spoken 
of  rather  as  Egoistic.  Theories  representing  the 
latter  alternative  are  often  distinguished  as  Altruis- 
tic or  Universalistic. 

Altruistic  theories  have  commonly  associated 
themselves  with  that  loftier  conception  of  })leasure, 
which  has  been  characterized  as  Eudemonism  ;  and 
the  ethical  theory  thus  formed  has  in  modern  times, 
and  especially  in  English  literature,  come  to  be 
known  by  the  name  of  Utilitarianism.'-^     This  theory 

1  See  note  on  p.  44. 

'-  With  reference  to  this  term,  Mr.  J.  S.  Mill  says  that  lie  "has  reason  for 
believing  liiniself  to  be  the  first  person  who  brought  the  word  '  utilitarian  ' 
into  use.  Me  did  not  invent  it,  but  adopted  it  from  a  passing  expression  in 
Mr.  Galfs  .'\nnals  of  the  Parish.''  (L/ii/i/ar/a/iisDi.p.  30S,  note,  Anicr.  cd.) 
This  little  treatise  may  be  recommended  to  the  student  as  probably  the  most 
convenient  exposition  of  Utilitarianism  for  introducing  him  to  the  theory.  It 
is  reprinted  in  the  tliird  volume  of  the  American  edition  of  Mill's  Disserta- 
tions and  Discussions, 


I 


KI'ICUKKAN   TIIEOKIKS. 


147 


ill  be 
that 
)f  the 
■,  and 
t   and 

fcrcnt 
:is\vcr- 
:onsti- 
casurc 
;  or  is 
t  of  all 
ion   of 
s  th co- 
ll, but 
spoken 
lo-   the 
truis- 

Dciated 
asure, 

;  and 
times, 
to    be 

heory 


eason  for 
tilitarian ' 
cssion  in 
liner,  cd.) 
tlic  most 
leory.  It 
Disserta- 


i 

I 


may  therefore  be  taken  as  the  most  favorable  form 
of  Kpicurean  Ethics ;  and  consequently  any  study  of 
l^picureanism,  except  in  a  purely  historical  interest, 
—  any  study,  whether  for  defence  or  for  attack, — 
must  be  directed  mainly  to  the  form  which  it  has 
assumed  in  the  Utilitarianism  of  modern  times. 
Accordingly,  we  must  endeavor  to  comprehend  the 
Utilitarian  Theory  in  its  leading  features. 

§  I.    Utilitayianisui  Expounded. 

The  following  propositions  embody  the  substance 
of  the  theory. 

I.  The  Sovereign  Good,  which  forms  the  Chief 
iMid  of  man,  is  that  which  is  most  desirable.  Now, 
the  only  way  to  find  out  what  is  most  desirable  is  by 
experience,  that  is,  by  observing  what  is  actually 
most  desired  by  men.^  This  is  undoubtedly  pleas- 
ure. To  find  pleasure  in  a  thing,  and  to  find  it 
desirable,  are  merely  different  ways  of  expressing 
the  same  fact.  Pleasure,  therefore,  is  the  only  thing 
absolutely  desirable  —  the  only  thing  of  absolute 
worth  —  in  human  life. 

II.  As  the  sole  object  that  is  absolutely  desirable, 
pleasure  is  that  which  alone  gives  value  to  every- 
thing else.  All  things  —  all  actions  —  are  desirable 
only  in  proportion  to  the  quantity  of  pleasure  they 
give.     This,  however,  requires  a  standard  for  calcu- 

1  Tlie  supporters  of  this  theory  have  been  commonly  empiricists ;  and 
tills  apjieal  to  tiie  experience  of  mankind,  sometimes  even  to  tliat  of  tiie 
whole  animal  kingdom,  is  the  argument  of  the  earliest  thinkers  who  sought 
the  value  of  life  in  pleasure.  It  was  the  argument  of  the  Cyrenaics  {Diog. 
Lacri.,  II.  S6),  of  Eudoxus  (.\ristotle,  Nic.  Et/i.,  X.  2),  of  Kpicurus  (^Diog, 
La'erf.f  X.  29),  and  of  the  Epicureans  generally  (Cicero,  Dc  Fin.,  1.  9). 


^ 


t 


"I 


^1 


w 


i:i 


148 


AN    IN  TKoin'CTlON    TO    KTIIICS. 


lating  different  quantities  of  pleasure  ;  and  iiere  wc 
eonie  upon  one  of  the  most  foimidable  i)roblems  of 
Utilitarianism. 

r.  The  older  Utilitarians  disposed  of  the  prob- 
lem somewhat  summarily.  To  Paley,  for  example, 
"pleasures  differ  in  nothinj;  but  continuanee  and 
intensity."^  ]Uit  later  Utilitarians  see  elearly  that 
the  })roblem  is  not  by  any  means  so  simple  as  Paley 
sui)j)()sed  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  quantitative  comparison 
of  different  pleasures  is  complicated  by  the  fact  that 
other  qualities  besides  intensity  and  continuance 
must  be  taken  into  the  calculation. 

2.  Thus,  Kentham  had  already  pointed  out  that, 
even  when  a  pleasure  is  considered  by  itself,  and 
with  reference  to  the  person  alone  by  whom  it  is 
enjoyed,  it  is  to  be  estimated  by  four  different  "cir- 
cumstances," viz.,  intensity^  duration,  certainty y  propin- 
quity;  while,  if  the  pleasure  is  viewed  in  connection 
with  other  pleasures,  we  must  consider  also  \\^  fecun- 
dity 7\.\\f\  purity,  and  if  more  than  the  person  enjoying 
it  are  affected  by  it,  we  must  calculate  its  extent? 

3.  The  progress  of  Psychology  since  Bentham's 
time  has  given  greater  exactness  to  the  study  of 
human  feelings  in  all  their  various  aspects,  but  has 
certainly  not  simplified  the  problem  of  their  commen- 
suration.  Without  attempting  to  discuss  in  all  its 
bearings  the  psychological  question  of  the  various 
qualities  by  which  pleasures  and  pains  may  be 
discriminated,  it  may  here  be  observed  that,  even 
when  we  leave  out  of  consideration  the  effects  of  a 

1  Moral  and  Political  Philosof>hy,  Pxiok  I.  cliapter  vi. 

2  Principles  of  Morals  and  Lci^islalion,  chapter  iv. 


I 


\ 


1-c/ 


KPirUUKAN  TIIKOUn-S. 


149 


;,   even 
ts  of  a 


t 


fccliny;  whether  on  the  person  who  is  the  subject  of 
it  or  on  others,  there  are  two  distinct  aspects  under 
which  it  may  be  viewed. 

{(i)  In  the  first  place,  every  feelinf:^  has  a  snisiblc 
side  ;  it  is  an  excitement  of  the  sensibility,  pleasur- 
able or  painful.  It  was  evidently  on  this  side  alone, 
that  our  feelinf;s  were  regarded  by  Paley  ;  for  as 
simple  facts  of  sensibility,  it  may  be  said  with  truth 
that  they  are  distinguishable  merely  by  the  length  of 
time  during  which  they  continue  to  excite  us,  and  by 
the  intensity  of  their  excitement  while  it  lasts.  Hut 
even  under  this  limited  aspect  the  commensuration 
of  different  pleasures  and  pains  is  complicated  by  the 
fact,  that  the  two  qualities  of  intensity  and  dura- 
bility seem  to  have  no  relation  but  one  which  looks 
like  an  inverse  proportion. 

(/;)  It  is  obvious,  however,  that  for  all  the  pur- 
poses of  mental  and  moral  life,  there  is  another 
aspect  of  human  feelings,  which  is  of  higher  impor- 
tance. This  may  be  spoken  of  as  their  intcUcctual 
side  ;  it  is  that  side  on  which  the  feelings  are  viewed 
as  factors  that  enter  more  or  less  readily  into  the 
upbuilding  of  our  mental  life.  Now,  a  feeling  con- 
tributes to  our  mental  growth  by  the  readiness  with 
wliich  it  admits  of  being  associated  and  compared 
wdth  other  facts  ;  that  is  to  say,  there  are,  on  this 
side  of  our  feelings  also,  two  qualities  to  be  consid- 
ered, —  Associability  and  Comparability.  As  Asso- 
ciation means  the  suggestion  or  revival  of  previous 
mental  states,  and  Comparison  implies  the  power  of 
distinguishing  the  things  compared,  the  two  quali- 
ties  of   Associability    and    Comparability    may    be 


itHi 


ISO 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO  FTIIirc;. 


f:| 


tl 


|l 


1 '     t 


w 


( 


conveniently  described  by  the  expression,  Distinct 
Representability.  It  is  evident,  that,  althou«;h  this 
aspect  of  our  feelin<j^s  was  overh)()ked  by  I'aley,  it 
must  largely  determine  their  value  as  influences  in 
the  moral  life.  In  fact,  the  (|ualities  of  certainty 
and  propinquity,  brought  into  prominence  by  lien- 
tham,  must  depend  for  their  effect  on  the  distinct- 
ness with  which  a  feeling  can  be  rei)resentetl  to  the 
mind  as  certain  or  uncertain,  as  near  or  remote. 
Considered  merely  as  sensible  excitements,  the  feel- 
ings may  form  unreflectivc  impulses  to  action  ;  but 
it  is  only  by  being  distinctly  representable,  that  they 
can  form  the  ends  of  intelligent  purpose.  This  as})ect 
of  the  feelings,  therefore,  alters  completely  the  concep- 
tion of  their  value  which  we  should  derive  from  their 
sensible  qualities.  It  values  a  feeling  not  only  while 
it  lasts,  but  when  it  is  afterwards  revixcd  in  memory 
or  imagination  to  form  an  object  of  intelligent  reflec- 
tion. In  such  a  valuation  of  our  feelings  it  appears 
that  their  distinct  representability  is  generally  in 
direct  proportion  to  their  durabilit)',  antl  therefore  in 
inverse  proportion  to  their  intensity  ;  in  other  words, 
the  calmer  feelings  are  not  only  more  durable,  but 
also  more  distinctly  revivable  in  idea. 

But  the  subject  need  not  be  followed  further.^  It 
is  introduced  here  merely  for  the  purpose  of  illus- 
trating the  difficulty  of  arriving  at  any  common 
measure  of  our  pleasures  and  pains,  owing  to  the 
various  aspects  under  which  they  may  be  regarded. 

4.    But  a  new  difficulty  has  been  introduced  into 

1  Tlie  subject  is  treated  at  some  lengtli  in  my  Handbook  of  Psycluiloy^y, 
pp.  410-41S. 


i:i>I(  IkKW     IIIKORIKS. 


151 


,1    It 

illus- 


I 


1 


this  i)rol)lcm  l)y  I\Ir.  Mill,  who  maintains  that  pleas- 
ures arc  to  be  cstiniatctl,  not  l)y  their  quantity  alone, 
but  also  ])y  their  (jua/ity.  "  It  is,"  he  says,  **  (luite 
compatible  with  the  principle  of  utility  to  recoj^nizc 
the  fact,  that  some  kiiii/s  of  i)leasure  are  more  desir- 
able and  more  valuable  tluui  others.  It  would  be 
absurd,  that  while,  in  cstimatiiv^  all  other  thin<;s, 
quality  is  considered  as  well  as  cjuantity,  the  estima- 
tion of  pleasures  should  be  supposed  to  depend  on 
quantity  alone."  ' 

This  doctrine  has  exposed  Mr.  Mill  to  hostile 
criticism,  not  from  his  oj)ponents  alone,  but  even 
from  his  friends.  In  truth  a  strict  Utilitarian  might 
very  fairly  complain  that  Mr.  Mill's  contention  is  an 
open  retreat  from  the  central  position  of  Utilitarian- 
ism. The  question  at  issue  in  any  ethical  theory  is, 
by  what  quality  is  the  value  of  human  actions  to  be 
estimated  .''  and  the  Utilitarian  answer  is,  that  the 
quality  rec[uired  is  pleasure.  For  the  Utilitarian, 
therefore,  the  c()mi)arative  values  of  different  actions 
must  be  estimated  by  their  having  more  or  less  of 
this  tpiality ;  in  other  words,  by  the  quantity  of  the 
l)ieasure  which  they  yield.  Mr.  Mill's  doctrine,  how- 
ever amounts  to  the  assertion,  that  the  quality,  by 
which  in  the  last  analysis  the  value  of  actions  must 
be  calculated,  is  not  pleasure,  but  some  other  quality 
or  qualities  by  v/hich  different  pleasures  c^re  distin- 
guished from  one  another.  ^ 

Now,  if  Mr.  Mill's  language  be  strictly  interpreted, 
such  a  criticism,  whether  from  friend  or  foe,  is  un- 
answerable.    Imauine  a  man  committinir  himself  to 


1   Utililiii  itinisiii.  p.  310  (Ainer.  ed.). 


I  i  \ 


152 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    KTHICS. 


•  :  I 


'■  ill' 


n 


the  paradox,  that  substances  are  to  be  valued  solely 
in  proportion  to  the  quantity  of  matter  which  they 
contain,  as  estimated  by  their  weight,  and  then,  on 
finding  that  men  prefer  a  pound  of  gold  to  a  pound 
of  lead,  seeking  to  bring  his  paradox  into  accordance 
with  this  fact  by  a  qualification:  —  "But  the  value 
of  a  substance  must  be  estimated,  not  by  its  weight 
or  quantity  alone,  but  by  its  quality  also  ;  we  must 
consider,  not  only  how  much  of  the  substance  there 
is,  but  also  what  sort  of  a  substance  it  is,"  Of  the 
same  purport  essentially  is  Mr.  Mill's  qualification 
of  the  Utilitarian  theory, 

I3ut  whatever  may  be  thought  of  Mr.  Mill's  con- 
sistency as  an  Utilitarian,  his  doctrine  is  based  on  a 
very  simple  psychological  fact.  In  reality,  we  are 
never  conscious  of  pleasure  in  the  abstract, — a  feel- 
ing which  is  estimated  merely  by  the  quantity  of  its 
pleasantness  ;  every  real  pleasure-  is  a  concrete  feel- 
ing of  a  particular  kind  ;  and,  therefore,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  we  do  judge  of  pleasures  by  their  qualities, 
not  by  their  quantity  alone.  This  fact,  however,  was 
not  ignored  by  M ",  Mill's  predecessors  in  the  Utilita- 
rian School,  They,  too,  as  we  have  seen,  recognized 
the  fact,  that  in  our  estimate  of  pleasures  we  must 
take  their  qualities  into  account,  But  the  recognition 
of  this  fact  was  not  allowed  by  the  older  Utilitarians 
to  conflict  with  the  fundamental  principle  of  their 
theory.  They  held,  Ihat,  when  we  do  take  the 
qualities  of  any  feeling  into  account,  it  is  merely 
for  the  purpose  of  calculating  the  quantity  of  pleas- 
ure which  it  yields.  And  therefore  the  representa- 
tives of    this   theory,   ancient   and    modern,    are    in 


" 


Ericuui.w  riii:(jKiKs. 


153 


general  agreed  that,  as  the  sole  good  is  pleasure, 
every  pleasure  is  in  itself  good,  of  whatever  kind  or 
quality  it  may  be.  Thus,  among  the  aneients,  the 
Cyrenaics  held  that  ''pleasure  is  a  good,  even  if  it  is 
derived  from  the  most  unseemly  sources."  ^  And  — 
to  take  the  most  famous  of  modern  Utilitarians  — 
]5entham  argues  that,  as  every  motive  in  prospect 
must  be  the  procuring  of  pleasure  or  the  avoidance 
of  pain,  "there  is  no  such  thing  as  any  sort  of  motive 
that  is  in  itself  a  bad  one  ;"  and  in  a  footnote  he 
illustrates  his  statement  by  the  pleasure  of  ill-will : 
"This  wretched  pleasure,  taken  by  itself,  is  good; 
.  .  .  while  it  lasts,  and  before  any  bad  consequences 
arise,  it  is  as  good  as  any  other  that  is  not  more 
intense.    - 

5.  It  is  obvious  then  that  the  problem  involved  in 
the  commensuration  of  different  quantities  of  pleasure 
becomes  extremely  complicated  from  the  fact,  that  the 
calculation  must  include  various  qualities  of  pleasure 
that  are  very  different.  How,  for  example,  are  we  to 
determine  whether  a  /^r/V/ pleasure  of  acute  intensity 
is  greater  or  less  than  a  more  sober  pleasure  of  longer 
continnancr  and  more  vivid  rcprcscntability  ?  All 
such  questions  with  regard  to  the  relative  value  of 
particular  pleasures,  the  Utilitarian  answers  by  the 
same  empirical  method  by  which  he  determines  the 
absolute  value  of  pleasure  in  general.  lie  appeals  to 
experience  in  order  to  find  out  what  pleasures  are 
actually  most  desired  by  men. 

But  here  a  difficulty  arises.     There  is  many  a  man 

1  Dioi;.  Lacrt,,  11.88. 

2  Principles  of  Morals  ami  Legislation^  chapter  x.  §  g. 


Ill  ■  ] 


I  I 


V 


(I 


Pli 


■M 


(  ■ 


i 


■ 


M 


^'    . 


Mm 

I         I 


'54 


AN   INTRODUCTION  To  F.TIIICS. 


of  gross  ignorance  or  sensuality,  wlio  experiences  a 
more  complete  satisfaction  in  his  low  and  narrow 
range  of  pleasures  than  the  most  spiritual  intelli- 
gence commonly  nmls  in  his  life.  In  fact,  it  may  be 
said  with  truth,  that  the  majority  of  men,  in  practice 
at  least,  prefer  the  coarse  and  ephemeral  p  easures 
of  sense  to  the  permanent  gratifications  of  intellec; 
and  taste  and  conscience.  Are  we  then  shut  u[)  to 
the  verdict  which  seems  to  be  founded  on  the  expe- 
rience of  the  majority.-*  No;  for  the  majority  have 
not  in  reality  had  the  necessary  experience.  They 
know  only  the  coarser  forms  of  pleasure,  and  are  not 
therefor^'  in  a  position  to  compare  these  with  others  ; 
whereas  the  man  of  moral  and  intellectual  refine- 
ment knows  the  higher  as  well  as  the  lower  pleasures 
of  human  life,  and,  knowing  both,  prefers  the  former. 
His  judgment,  as  alone  based  on  adecjuate  experi- 
ence, is  decisive  of  the  question  at  issue.  The  con- 
tentment of  the  low  pleasure-seeker  proves  nothing 
to  the  point.  Vm%  as  Mr.  Mill  i:)Uts  it  in  an  often- 
quoted  ])assage,  "  it  is  better  to  be  a  human  being- 
dissatisfied  than  to  be  a  pig  satisfied  ;  Itetter  to  be 
Socrates  dissatisfied  than  a  fool  satisfietl.  And  if  th<' 
fool  or  the  pig  are  of  a  different  opinion,  it  is  ])ec-aus'> 
they  only  kiiow  their  own  side  of  the  cpiestion.  Th*- 
other  party  to  the  cv)mparison  knows  both  sides."  ^ 

1  Mill's  Utiliiariiruisin.  p.  v^i  (Anicr.  ccl.).  Tlio  itassatjo  lias  excited 
more  adniiralion  than  seems  to  be  calied  for  on  tiie  t;nuind  either  of  oris^inal- 
jty  or  of  literary  merit.  In  tlie  AV////'//V  of  Plato  (IX.  5X2),  there  is  a  pas- 
sage which  is  curiously  simil.ir  in  its  general  line  ol  thouu;lit  ;  and  not  many 
years  before  the  appearance  uf  Mr.  Mill's  treatise,  the  same  sentiment  IkkI 
found  a  perfect  expression  in  the  familiar  ode  of  ///  Mcinoriiuit,  bei;innin,L;, 
"  I  envy  not  in  .my  moods,"  etc.  (2;), 


k.. 

1 

1 

; 

1 

, 

1 

1 

; 

■ 

tc 

p 

' 

■ 

KPICURKAN   TIIKOKir.S. 


55 


JS. 

;is  I'xciU'd 
ii  (iri,L,'in;il- 
\c  is  a  luis- 

iiiit  numy 
liiiiinl  li;id 

bcgiiinin^', 


Tlic  Utilitarian,  tlicn,  would  be  ^^aiidcd  in  his  selec- 
tion of  pleasures  by  the  exi)erience  of  those  who 
have  had  the  best  ()i)[)()rtunities  of  judging.  And 
this  brings  us  to  his  definition  of  rightness  in  action. 

III.  A  /'/i/-/// or  ^i,'-<v^/ action  is  one  that  is  adapted 
to  produce  the  greatest  cpiantity  of  pleasure  to  rdl 
concerned.  This  adaptation  is  called  utility.  In 
connection  with  this  definition  a  few  explanatory 
remarks  may  be  made. 

1.  The  utility  of  an  action  consists  in  its  giving 
pleasure,  not  merely  to  the  agent,  but  to  all  who 
are  affected  by  his  action.  This  it  became  common 
among  Utilitarians  to  express  by  the  phrase,  "  the 
greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number."  ^  There 
seems  to  be  a  greater  practical  as  well  as  specula- 
tive definiteness  attained  by  limiting  the  view,  as 
Ik'ntham  does,  to  "  the  greatest  happiness  of  all 
those  whose  interest  is  in  question."- 

2.  As  pleasure  is  a  good,  and  pain  an  evil,  wherever 
they  can  be  excited,  it  becomes  a  duty  to  avoid  the 
infliction  of  uiniecessary  j^ain  on  any  sentient  being; 
and  Utilitarianism,  therefore,  encourages  the  amiable 
::entiment  which  leads  to  the  kindly  treatment  of  the 
lower  animals.  In  fact,  although  the  sentiment  was 
not  without  its  influence  even  in  the  ancient  world 
among  Pagans  and  Jews  as  well  as  among  Christians,'* 
it  has  undergone  an  energetic  revival  in  recent  times, 
leading  to  the  establishment  of  numerous  Societies 

1  Tlie  (iiiijin  of  the  phrase  is  Cdinnioiily  ascril)ecl  to  Piicstloy  ;  but  it  scorns 
to  liavo  been  iisci.1  before  by  lliitchcsoii.  Sec  Sidj^wick's  History  of  Etitus, 
p.  302. 

-  Princi/'lcs  of  Atora/s  ami  / i\Q!s/ii/io)i.  cliapter  i.  §  1. 

8  See  I.eclvv's  Hi.^tory  of  Eurol-dnt  Morals. \^A,  ii.  pp.  i;i-iSS. 


:  -^^ 


!1 


'ff  I 


ir 


r 


m 


§' 


¥  ■  .  'f 


:. 


. 


;• . 


I't 


1^6 


AN'    IN'I'KODI'C'I'ION   TO   KTIUCS. 


for  tlic  ]*rcvcntion  of  Cruelty  to  Animals;  and  it 
would  perhaps  be  no  more  than  historical  justice  to 
accord  to  the  influence  of  Utilitarianism  an  impor- 
tant share  in  this  revival. 

'3.  The  i)urport  of  the  Utilitarian  definition  of 
ri[;htness  would  be  misunderstood  if  it  were  sup- 
posed to  imply  that  each  individual  is  required  to 
ascertain,  by  inquiry  for  himself  with  regard  to 
every  action,  whether  it  is  adapted  to  promote  "  the 
greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number."  On 
the  contrary,  certain  great  outlines  of  human  con- 
duct, represented  by  such  terms  as  justice,  benevo- 
lence, temperance,  chastity,  have  been  found  by  over- 
whelming accumulations  of  experience  to  be  utterly 
indispensable  to  human  happiness.^  Very  properly, 
therefore,  men  act  on  the  assumptions  of  this  expe- 
rience, and  children  are  very  properly  brought  up 
under  the  teaching  that  such  conduct  is  essential  to 
their  own  well-being  and  that  of  others.  Any  human 
being,  therefore,  who  undergoes  a  proper  moral  train- 
ing, may  be  schooled  into  the  habit  of  doing  what  is 
right  simply  because  it  is  right,  without  any  thought 
of  the  utility  which  alone  constitutes  rightness  ;  and 
this  habitual  —  this  apparently  instinctive  —  recogni- 
tion of  duty  ought  to  be  the  end  of  all  moral 
educcition.2 

This  result,  producing  the  semblance  of  an  unre- 
flecting instinct  in  the  devotion  of  many  minds  to 
duty,  the  ICmpirical  Utilitarian  commonly  explains 
by  one  of  those  mental  processes  that  are  very  famil- 

1  Mill's  UtilitariaiiisDi,  pp.  332-334  (.Aincr.  ed.). 

2  7/,/,/.^  pp.  349-353. 


f 


and   it 

itice  to 

impor- 

tion   of 
re    sup- 
lircd  to 
^ard    to 
tc  "  the 
,"      On 
an  con- 
benevo- 
by  ovcr- 
;  utterly 
roperly, 
is  expc- 
ight   up 
nitial  to 
human 
al  train- 
what  is 
thought 
ss  ;  and 
|i-ecogni- 
moral 

n  unre- 
inds  to 
explains 
y  famil- 


! 


Kl'ICUkKAN    'rilKOKIES. 


157 


iar  in  the  cultivation  of  habits.     It  very  often  hap- 


thi 


)bj( 


;he  fii 


lor 


own 


nistance, 
ke,  but  for  the  sake  of  something 
else.  That  is  merely  another  way  of  saying,  that 
the  object  gives  pleasure,  not  in  virtue  of  its  own 
intrinsic  properties,  but  from  its  association  with 
other  objects  which  are  intrinsically  pleasant.  After 
a  while,  however,  owing  to  the  long  habit  of  desir- 
ing the  object,  or  finding  j^leasure  in  it,  from  its 
associations,  it  comes  to  be  desired,  to  give  pleasure, 
by  itself,  without  any  conscious  reference  to  the 
objects  which  originally  made  it  pleasant.  Desires, 
l)roduced  in  this  wa'*^  were  often  by  the  oW  Psy- 
chologists named  secondary,  to  distinguish  them  from 
the  primary  desires  of  our  nature,  that  is,  those 
which  arc  directed  to  objects  intrinsically  desirable. 
Of  such  secondary  desires  it  has  been  common, 
among  Empirical  Psychologists  since  the  time  of 
Hartley,^  to  use  the  passion  of  avarice  as  a  stock- 
example  by  way  of  illustration.  Money,  the  object 
of  this  passion,  possesses  no  intrinsic  properties  by 

1  See  Hartley's  Obscyvatlons  on  Afan.  Part  I.  chapter  iv.  §  3.  In  the 
spirit  of  Hartley's  own  candor  it  may  l)e  observed  that  the  illustration  is  used 
by  Gay  in  that  Introduction  to  his  translation  of  Kint;"s  Dc  Orighic  Mali,  to 
which  Hartley  generously  ascribed  the  first  sui,'£;esti(/n  of  iiis  own  Associa- 
tional  I'sycliology.  It  niav  be  a  Ided,  liowcver,  that  the  associational  explana- 
tion of  the  disinterestedness  of  virtue  was  not  unknown  to  the  ancient  E|)icu- 
reans.  Cicero  puts  it  into  the  mouth  of  Torquatus,  specially  as  the  ICpicurean 
explanation  of  friendship  {Dc  Fiiiil'its,  I.  20).  Here  a  reminder  mav  be  ncces 
sary,  tliat  I  am  merely  the  expositor  of  Utilitarianism,  and  that  1  do  nut  dis- 
cuss tiie  reality  of  the  process  by  wliich  association  is  supposed  to  prnduce  the 
so-called  secondary  desires.  .\n  extremely  searching  criticism  of  the  theory, 
with  special  reference  to  the  case  of  avarice,  and  its  bearing  on  the  disinter- 
ested love  of  virtue,  will  be  found  in  an  article  by  I'rofessor  Flint  in  Mtnd, 
vol.  i.  pp.  321-334. 


i 


ui 


I 


jiii' 


m\''^ 


m  > 


•i 


158 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   l-'l'IlICS. 


which  it  is  fitted  to  excite  an  absorbing;  emotion  like 
this,  if  any  emotion  at  all.  But  in  all  communities, 
sufficiently  advanced  in  civilization  to  use  it,  money 
comes  to  be  associated  witli  the  numberless  gratifi- 
cations which  it  can  purchase.  This  vast  aL^g'reL;"ate 
of  pleasures  is,  in  c?//  minds  more  or  less  readily,  in 
souu-  very  powerfully,  suggested  by  the  thought  of 
money ;  and  in  cases  of  extreme  devotion  to  the 
pursuit  of  money,  they  become  fused  into  one 
vague  feeling  intensely  pleasurable,  without  refer- 
ence to  the  feelings  out  of  wliich  it  originally 
grew.  Money  then  comes  to  be  desired,  to  give 
pleasure,  for  its  own  sake,  though  in  reality  it  is 
desirable  merely  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasures  it  can 
procure ;  and  the  miser,  as  his  name  im[)lies,  will 
even  make  himself  miserable  by  sacrificing  all  the 
real  delights  which  money  can  buy,  in  order  to  enjoy 
a  purely  fictitious  delight  in  money  itself.  In  like 
manner,  though  virtue  is  in  reality  desirable  only  as 
a  means  to  happiness,  yet  continued  discii)line  in  the 
practice  of  virtue  may  at  last  produce  in  relation  to 
it  an  habitual  attitude  similar  to  that  of  the  miser  in 
relation  to  money.  "It  is  in  this  manner,"  says  Mr. 
Mill,  "that  the  habit  of  willing  to  persevere  in  the 
course  which  he  has  chosen,  does  not  desert  the 
moral  hero,  even  when  the  reward,  however  real, 
which  he  doubtless  receives  from  the  consciousness 
of  well-doing,  is  anything  but  an  ecpiivalent  for  the 
sufferings  he  undergoes,  or  the  wishes  which  he  may 
have  to  renounce."  ^ 

'   /.".C'V,  IJouk  VI.  diaptor  ii.  §  ^.   Compare  liis   Utilitarianisin,  p.  351 
(.'\mer.  cd.) 


Kl'ICUREAN   Tlli:ORir.S. 


159 


This  result  was  by  the  older  Utilitarians  supposed 
to  be  produced  within  the  lifetime  of  any  individual, 
liut  in  recent  times  Utilitarianism  has  on  this  point 
been  profoundly  affected  by  the  Theory  of  Evolu- 
tion. Realizing  the  difficulty  of  provin-;  that  the 
supposed  process  of  Association  is  ever  actually  gone 
through  in  the  moral  training  of  any  mind,  or  the 
still  greater  difficulty  of  proving  that  the  process 
could  produce  its  results  so  rapidly  as  to  account  for 
the  moral  habits  which  men  form,  the  Evolutionists 
of  our  day  ascribe  to  heredity  an  important  influence 
in  the  formation  of  these  habits.  The  nature  of  this 
inlluence  has  been  sufficiently  explained  in  the  ac- 
count of  the  Empirical  theory  of  the  moral  con- 
sciousness.^ 

§  2.    Utilitavianisni  Reviewed. 

The  Utilitarian  theory  of  the  moral  life  suggests 
four  questions  :  —  (1)  Does  the  allegation,  that  men 
desire  pleasure  above  all  things,  accord  with  the 
facts  of  experience }  (2)  If  it  be  true  that  men 
actually  desire  pleasure,  would  this  fact  prove  that 
they  ought  to  desire  it  above  all  things.-*  (3)  If  it 
were  proved  that  pleasure  is  the  object  which  ought 
to  be  desired  in  preference  to  everything  else,  could 
such  a  criterion  of  right  conduct  be  applied  in  prac- 
tice.-* (4)  Even  if  it  could  be  applied  in  practice, 
would  it  yield  such  a  code  of  morality  as  is  adopted 
among  civilized  nations  .-* 

1  Sue  ante,  p.  49. 


li 


1   .1 


i6o 


AN    INIKODUC'J'IOX   TO    ICTIIICS. 


fv| 


p 

I' it 


Ml' 


!    « 
■'1 


(/.)    /s    Pleasure  aetnaJly  the  Ultimate  Object  of  all 

Hiuuau  Aetion  ? 

In  approacliini;  tlic  Utilitarian  theory  for  the 
purposes  of  critical  examination,  one  is  naturally 
attracted  first  by  the  empirical  allegation  upon  which 
its  supporters  generally  found.  They  commonly 
assert,  as  a  fact  evinced  in  the  universal  experience 
of  men,  if  not  of  all  sentient  beings,  that,  whatever 
may  be  I'^oir  immediate  object,  the  ultimate  object 
of  in  '^very  pursuit    is    the   attainment    of  some 

pleai.  Q  {,\  the  avoidance  of  some  pain.  This  asser- 
tion implies  ;  ^generalization  of  the  motives  of  human 
life,  which  it  is  of  supreme  importance  to  estimate. 
In  order  to  do  this  it  is  necessary  to  distinguish  two 
very  different  meanings  in  which  the  word  motive  is 
employed. 

I.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  often  applied  to  any 
unintelligent  impulse,  such  as  a  purely  instinctive 
passion  by  which  we  may  be  incited  to  act  before  we 
have  time  to  reflect.  \ix<i\\  in  this  sense  it  may  be 
questioned  whether  the  allegation  of  the  Utilitarians 
accords  with  the  facts  of  experience.  That  allega- 
tion would  imply  that,  when  we  yield  to  any  sudden 
outburst  of  anger  or  ]')ity,  or  other  unreflecting 
emotion,  it  is  the  pleasantness  of  yielding,  the  pain- 
fulness  of  restraint,  that  forms  the  sole  motive  force 
impelling  us  to  action.  This  may  be,  though  a  psy- 
chologist might  fairly  question  whether  in  many  such 
cases  the  stimulating  eneigy  of  the  passion  does  not 
run  along  lines  which  have  no  necessary  or  uniform 
connection   with  the  attainment   of   pleasure  or  the 


II. 


i:i'icrKi:.\\  'iiii'.okii'.s. 


i6i 


of  all 

or    the 

[\turally 
n  which 

nimonly 
icricncc 
/hatcvcr 
c  object 
of  some 
is  asscr- 
»f  human 
estimate, 
uish  two 
motive  is 

d  to  any 
istinctivc 
)cforc  we 
may  be 
iUtarians 
at  allcLJia- 
y  sudden 
reflectinij; 
the  pain- 
ive  force 
,di  a  psy- 
,-iany  such 
does  not 
r  uniform 
lire  or  the 


avoidance  of  pain.     It  would  ap[)ear,  that,  as  natural 
suggestion  often  forces  into  our  consciousness  pain- 
ful thoughts   and   feelings  of   which  we  cannot  get 
rid,  so  it  impels  at  times  to  overt  activities  that  arc 
essentially    unpleasant.     This    seems    obviously  the 
/ise  with  those  suggestions  which  reach  the  intens- 
ity that  is  sometimes  spoken  of  as  maddening,  and 
is   in   fact   akin   to  veritable  madness.     Under  such 
impulses  the  agent,  or  (more  properly)  the  patient, 
may  be  conscious,  in  the  very  crisis  of  his  action,  or 
l)assion,  that  he  is  being  ilriven  on  by  a  power  which, 
fi)r  the  attainment  of  pleasure  or  the   avoidance  of 
jiain,  he  would  resist  if  he   could,  but  under  which 
nevertheless  he  feels   himself  helple;  ,.     This  is  the 
teaching  of  one  of  the  most  eminc  t  o^  living  psy- 
chologists, who  was  certainly  not  inclined  to   weaken 
the    foundation    of    Utilitarianism.       "A    pleasure, 
present  or  pro.spective,"  says  Dr.  '^ain,^  "  makes  me 
go  forth  in  a  course  of  active  pursuit  ;  an  impending 
evil  makes  me  alike  active  in  a  career  of  avoidance. 
A  neutral  feeling  spurs   me  in   neither  way  by  the 
proper  stimulus  of  the  will  ;  nevertheless,  by  keeping 
a  certain  object  fixed  in  the  view,  it   is   liable  to  set 
me  to  work,  according  to  a  law  of  the  constitution 
different    from    the    laws    of    volition,    namely,    the 
tendency  to  convert  into  actuality  whatever  strongly 
possesses    us    in    idea.       I    am    possessed   with    the 

1  Tlic  Emotions  and  the  Will,  p.  i6.  The  subject  is  illustrated  more 
tuily  in  The  Senses  and  the  Intelleet,  pp.  33^)-3-tS  (3d  cd.).  Compare  Dr. 
Carpenter's  account  of  IiUD-m.itur  Acticms  in  Human  Physioloi^y,  §  655-664 
{Mental  Phystoloi^y,  clniiter  vi.).  and  James's  Prineiples  of  Psychology,  Vol. 
II.  pp.  522-5.  The  last  named  work  (\'ol.  II.  pp.  5  I9-559)  contains  a  singu- 
Uiily  clear  and  forcible  aitupie  of  the  heduiiistic  tiieory  of  motives. 


^1 


ill' 


!  I 


Il  ' 


I' 


|M 


i  > 


:i, 


1^ 


162 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO    KTIIICS. 


notion  of  becoming  acquainted  witii  a  secret,  which, 
when  revealed,  would  add  nothing  to  my  pleasure ; 
yet,  by  virtue  of  a  sort  of  morbid  occupation  of  my 
mind  on  the  subject,  the  idea  shuts  out  my  more 
relevant  concerns,  and  so  works  itself  into  action." 

I^ut  this  whole  subject  is  one  of  psychological 
rather  than  of  ethical  interest.  I 'or  actions  that  are 
due  to  motives  of  the  nature  of  unintelligent  im- 
pulses  are  not  volitions,  not  moral  actions.  We  are 
therefore  led  to  confine  our  attention  to  th(jse 
motives  which  are  of  the  nature  of  intelligent  pur- 
poses, and  with  which  alone  our  moral  activity  has 
to  do. 

2.  In  this  sense  the  motive  of  an  action  is  the 
object  which  the  agent  has  in  view  as  the  end  to 
be  attained,  and  the  Utilitarian  allegation  would 
mean  that  the  only  end  which  a  human  being  can 
ever  seek  to  reach  is  the  enjoyment  of  some  i)leasure 
or  the  avoidance  of  some  pain.  Tiiis  doctrine,  how- 
ever, seems,  on  the  face  of  it,  to  conflict  with  a  fact 
which  has  been  noticed  above  as  an  essential  jKirt  of 
the  Utilitarian  theory.  It  is  admitted  by  Utilita- 
rians, that,  as  a  result  of  prolonged  moral  training, 
a  man  may  learn  the  habit  of  doing  what  is  right 
simply  because  it  is  right,  and  in  disregard  of  the 
fact  that  in  doing  it  he  may  be  called  to  sacrifice 
l^leasures  or  endure  pains.  This  result  is  maintained 
to  be  merely  a  special  instance  of  a  more  general 
effect  which  is  observed  in  the  cultivation  of  all  our 
habits.  Mr.  Mill,  in  fact,  attaches  so  much  imi)or- 
tance  to  this  phenomenon,  that  he  devotes  to  it  a 
whole  section  of  his  "  Logic," — a  section  which  is 


ii^ 


KI'ICL'UKAN   TIIKOKIKS. 


I^>3 


which, 
.'iisurc ; 
of  my 
y  more 
ion. 

[)loj;ical 
hat  are 
cnt  im- 
\Vc  are 
o  those 
ent  pur- 
vity  has 

n  is  the 
c  ciul  to 
n    would 
ciul;  can 
pleasure 
nic,  how- 
h  a  fact 
1  part  of 
Utilita- 
trainin^Li;, 
is  riL;ht 
-d  of  the 
sacrifice 
aintaincd 
t  <rcneral 
n  all  iHir 
h  impor- 
s  to  it  a 
which  is 


sij^nificantly  headed: — "A  motive  not  always  the 
anticipation  of  a  pleasure  or  pain."  ^  Here,  amonj; 
other  remarks,  he  ohserves  :  "As  we  proceed  in  the 
formation  of  hahits,  and  hecomc  accustomed  to  will 
a  particular  act  or  a  particular  course  of  conduct 
hecause  it  is  pleasurable,  we  at  last  continue  to  will 
it  without  any  reference  to  its  beinj;  pleasurable, 
ivlt'  ugh,  from  some  change  in  us  or  in  our  circum- 
stances, we  have  ceased  to  find  any  pleasure  in 
the  action,  or  perhaps  to  anticipate  any  pleasure  as 
the  consequence  of  it,  we  still  continue  to  desire  the 
action,  and  consequently  to  do  it.  In  this  manner  it 
is  that  habits  of  hurtful  excess  continue  to  be  prac- 
tised althou.L;h  they  have  ceased  to  be  pleasurable." 
And  then  Mill  adds  the  illustration  from  the  case  of 
the  moral  hero,  which  has  been  cited  a  few  pages 
above.  It  is  obvious,  therefore,  that,  according  to 
the  teaching  of  Utilitarians  themselves,  the  human 
niintl  is  not  so  constituted  as  to  be  incapable  of  seek- 
but  pleasure.     Whatever 


any  obj( 


ay 


n< 


case  with  human  beings  at  birth,  all  admit  of  bei 
trained  to  develop  a  faculty  of  acting  without  any 
regard  to  the  pleasure  or  pain  by  which  their  activity 


m: 


IV  be  accomi:)anied 


pani 


Nor  is  this  doctrine  to  be  regarded  as  an  unessen- 
tial adjunct  of  Utilitarianism,  which  may  be  dro]:)ped 
without  affecting  the  theory  as  a  whole,  and  which, 
therefore,  it  is  unfair  to  press  into  service  as  a 
weapon  against  the  theory.  On  the  contrary,  the 
object  which  Utilitarianism  holds  forth  as  the  chief 
end  of  human  existence,  assumes  that  every  man  is 

1  Lo^i;u',  Bouk  VI.,  chapter  ii.  §  4. 


.'  ;^r 


ii 


I 


If 


I)   ■ 


n 


U   ', 


164 


AN    INTkoDUC  IIOX    TO  K'lIIICS. 


I 


'■}. 


capable  of  l)cin,i,^  actuated  by  other  motives  besides 
the  desiic  of  pleasure  or  aversion  to  pain.  Any 
form  of  I'^picurean  luhics,  indeed,  except  the  very 
j^rossest  Hedonism,  involves  an  assumption  of  the 
same  purjjort.  Kvcn  ICL;()istic  luidemonism  takes 
for  L;ranted  that  I  can  seek,  not  merely  the  pleasure 
involved  in  my  present  action,  but  my  [)ermanent 
happiness.  My  permanent  happiness,  however,  is 
not  an  excitement  of  sensibility  ;  it  is  an  idea,  formed 
(it  may  be)  from  a  j;enerali/:ati()n  of  sensible  excite- 
ments, but  still  an  idea  formed  by  a  somewhat  lofty 
and  complicated  jinK^ess  of  reason  :  so  that,  when  I 
aim  at  a  haj^piness  extendin;^  throui;h  life,  I  am 
seeking;,  not  to  excite  a  mere  feeling  of  pleasure,  but 
to  realize  an  iilea  which  reason  has  formed. 

13ut  while  this  is  more  or  less  obviously  implied  in 
every  system  of  Iq)icurean  l!]thics,  it  becomes  i)romi- 
nently  obtrusive  in  modern  Utilitarianism.  For  its 
ideal  is  unmistakably  altruistic.  It  contends  that  the 
individual  can  seek,  not  merely  his  own  pleasure  at 
the  moment  of  action,  not  merely  his  own  permanent 
happiness,  but  the  happiness  of  men  in  L;'eneral,  at 
least  so  far  as  they  are  affected  by  his  action,  l^ut 
the  pleasure  of  others,  resulting  from  an  action,  is 
not  necessarily  pleasure  to  the  agent  himself ;  on  the 
contrary,  in  consequence  of  an  unfortunate  effect  of 
antiixithy,'  it  may  even  be  pain  to  him.  ICvery  man, 
therefore,  who  acts  up  to  the  Utilitarian  ideal,  how- 
ever imperfectly,  is  asserting  practically  that  pleas- 
ure is  not  the  sole  motive  of  human  conduct,  the  sole 
object  of  human  desire. 

1  See  my  Handbook  of  Psychology,  p.  J75. 


besides 

.     Any 
ic  very 
of  the 
1    takes 
-)leasure 
•manent 
ever,    is 
,  formed 

I  excite- 
Kit  lofty 
,  when  I 
ie,  I  am 
sure,  but 

II  plied  in 
es  j)romi- 

I'or  its 
that  the 

0  a  sure  at 
rmanent 

cueral,  at 
on.  l^nt 
action,  is 

1  ;  on  the 
effect  of 

•ery  man, 
leal,  how- 
lat  pleas- 
It,  the  sole 


Ki'iriMil'.AN'   '|-|li:niUKS. 


165 


It  may  perhaps  he  ur<j;ed  in  reply  to  this,  that  an 
a^i^cnt  seeks  the  pleasure  of  otliers  only  because  it  is 
the  sole  road  to  his  own.  lUit,  waivin^i;  all  (piestion 
as  to  whether  this  is  actually  the  case  or  not,  the 
plea  must  be  ruled  out  of  the  Utilitarian  court.  For 
the  advocate  of  Utilitarianism,  who  shoukl  adopt  this 
plea,  would  thereby  abandon  all  that  is  distinctively 
noble  in  his  cause,  and  dei^rade  it  to  the  position  of 
sheer  lvj;oism.  Wliether  such  a  dej^radation  of  the 
Utilitarian  theory  is  a  loLjical  result  of  its  fundamen- 
tal principle,  need  not  be  discussed  at  this  point.  It 
is  sufficient  to  note  the  fact  that,  whatever  may  have 
been  the  tendency  to  ICc^oism  anion;;-  the  ICpicurean 
moralists  of  an  older  date,  the  Utilitarianism  of  our 
day,  as  represented  by  its  ablest  e\})onents,  explicitly 
refuses  the  advocacy  of  any  I"^j;()istic  plea.  Mr. 
Mill  is  specially  explicit  on  this  \m\n\..  "Unques- 
tionably," he  says,  "it  is  possible  to  do  without  hap- 
piness: it  is  done  involuntarily  by  nineteen-twentieths 
of  mankind,  c  \'en  in  those  parts  of  our  present  world 
which  are  least  sunk  in  barbarism  ;  and  it  often  has  to 
be  done  voluntarily  by  the  hero  or  the  martyr,  for  the 
sake  of    somethinLr  which  he  iirizes  more  than   his 


individual   happiness. 


All   honor  to    those   who 


can  abnefj;ate  for  themselves  the  personal  enjoyment 
of  life,  when  by  such  renunciation  they  contribute 
worthily  to  increase  the  amount  of  happiness  in  the 
world  ;  but  he  who  does  it,  or  professes  to  do  it,  for 
any  other  purpose,  is  no  more  deserving;  of  admira- 
tion than  the  ascetic  mounted  on  his  pillar.  lie  may 
be  an  inspiriting  proof  of  what  men  can  do,  but  as- 
suredly  not   an   example  of  what   they  should.  .  .  . 


I  1  ! 
I 


il 


,    1 1 


1 66 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO  ETHICS. 


/ 

(I. 


■4      . 


■i. 


The  Utilitarian  morality  does  recognize  in  human 
beings  the  power  of  sacrificing  their  own  greatest 
good  for  the  good  of  others."  ^ 

There  could  not  be  a  clearer  denial  than  these 
words  contain,  of  the  allegation  that  pleasure  is  the 
sole  motive  by  which  men  can  be  induceil  to  act. 
Kven  if  it  could  be  shown  that  those  motives,  which 
are  merely  unreasoning  impulses,  are  simply  pleasant 
or  painful  excitements  of  sensibility,  yet  motives  of 
an  entirely  different  character  are  called  into  play, 
when  a  man  comes  to  the  use  of  reason  in  the 
government  of  his  conduct.  Then  the  object,  which 
stimulates  him  to  activity,  must  commend  itself  to 
him  for  some  reason,  must  be  conceived,  however 
obscurely  and  confusedly,  as  a  }raso)uibIc  object. 
Even  the  cool,  calculating  selfishness,  which  deliber- 
ately plans  life  for  the  sake  of  personal  enjoyment 
alone,  not  only  conceives  the  object  of  its  pursuit  to 
be  rea.sonable,  but  often  flatters  itself  with  the  con- 
viction that  this  object  represents  an  immeasurably 
sounder  reason  than  the  ideals  of  a  disinterested 
philanthropy.  But  when  a  man  atloi)ts  these  ideals 
for  his  guidance,  it  is  obvious  that  the  motive  inspir- 
ing him  can  in  no  sense  be  spoken  of  as  pleasure,  or 
indeed  as  having  anything  whatever  to  do  with  \\\> 
natural  sensibility.  Ami  there  are  cases,  like  that  of 
"the  ascetic  mounted  on  his  pillar,"  in  which  the 
intensest  force  of  will  is  called  into  play  to  sustain 
an  exertion  prolonged  throughout  many  years,  which 
implies  a  renunciation,  not  only  of  all  personal  en- 
joyment, but  even   of  all    practical    interest    in    the 

'   UtUita>uinis)n,  pp.  3:11-323  (Amor.  etl.). 


EPIC U RK A N  TI I KORl KS. 


167 


luiman 
rcatcst 

I  these 
is  the 
to  act. 
,  which 
ilcasant 
:ives  of 
;o  play, 
in  the 
:,  which 
tself  to 
lowever 
o])ject. 
(Ichbcr- 
oyment 
suit  to 
le  con- 
uirably 
crested 
c  ideals 
insi)ir- 
su re,  or 
ith   hi.-^ 
that  of 
ich   the 
sustain 
,,  which 
onal  en- 
in    the 


IS 


I 


enjoyments  of  others,  lu'ery  cause,  in  fact,  as  is 
often  remarked,  has  had  its  martyrs  ;  and  there  are 
on  record  instances  of  profoundly  tra<;ic  pathos,  in 
which  death  itself  was  bravely  met  for  the  sake  of 
what  was  believed  to  be  true,  even  when  that  belief 
l^rccluded  the  hope  of  any  compensation  in  a  future 
life  for  the  sacrifice  of  the  present.^ 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  the  empirical  allegation, 
which  limits  the  motives  of  human  action  to  the 
inlluence  of  pleasure  and  pain,  would  render  Utili- 
t  irian  morality  itself  impossible.  Hut  the  allegation 
IS  based  on  a  very  superficial  experience.  Whenever 
we  look  below  the  surface  of  human  life,  we  find 
that  men  are  in  reality  hunting  after  far  other  ideals 
than  those  of  personal  pleasure.  Painful  toil  and 
hardshij),  and  the  martyr's  death,  are  conceptions 
which  exercise  a  veritable  power  over  the  human 
w  ill,  and  are  the  objects  of  real  asi)iration  and  en- 
deavor. Even  among  the  lowliest  ranks  of  men,  our 
common  life  is  every  day  ennobled  by  deeds  which 
display  the  genuine  spirit  of  an  heroic  martyrdom. 

(//.)    Dors  ilic  Jiuipirical  luict  of  ix'Jiat  is  actJially  most 
desired  prove  ivhat  onglit  to  be  uiost  desired  by  Men  ? 

These  facts  in  regard  to  the  actuality  of  self-sacri- 
fice force  upon  us  another  aspect  in  which  the  Utili- 
tarian theory  offers  a  point  for  critical  iiupiiry.  Let 
us  waive  the  previous  objection,  and  suppose  the 
allegation  regarding  the  motives  of  human  conduct 

1  Eviii  tlio  ;uitlior  (if  The  Fable  of  tlic  Bees  \\a.<,  Ljivcn  a  prominent  place 
to  (iionlano  Hiimo.  .ind  \anini.  and  Malionict  ICllcmli.  tliou^Ii  in  paintinj^ 
tlu'ii  martyriloin  lie  has  dipped  Ids  h\\\<\\  in  colors  of  the  coarsest  Kgoism 
(Vol.  1.  p.  23S). 


•    Fl 


'■), 


1 68 


AN  INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


Ill 


iiffiil 


to  be  proved  by  the  facts  of  experience  ;  to  what, 
after  all,  would  the  allegation  amount  ?  It  would 
merely  show  what  men  actually  do  desire,  not  what 
they  ought  to  desire,  above  all  thinj^s.  The  inference 
from  the  former  to  the  latter  involves  the  assump- 
tion that  men's  actions  are  an  authority  without 
appeal  on  the  question  at  issue,  l^ut  this  assump- 
tion is  doubly  unwarranted.  It  claims  (i)  that  the 
votes  of  men  can  decide  such  a  question,  (2)  that 
their  votes  have  been  obtained. 

I.  The  reference  to  a  majority  of  votes  is  a  con- 
venient artifice  in  social  organizations  for  attaining 
such  a  settlement  of  jiractical  problems  as  will  form 
a  guide  to  action  in  order  to  a^'oid  the  evils  of  an- 
archy. lUit  even  those  who  accept  most  loyally 
such  a  solution  of  social  problems  f(jr  practical  pur- 
poses, do  not  allow  it  to  bind  their  speculative  con- 
victions on  the  problems  which  are  thus  decided.^ 

In  a  purely  speculative  interest  opinions  are  author- 
itative only  in  proportion  to  the  special  qualifications 
which  the  men  who  hold  them  possess  for  arriving  at 
the  truth  ;  and  for  authority  over  our  speculative 
convictions  the  saving  of  Ilerakleitos  can  never  lose 
its  force: — '  O  lU  in'i)ioi^  lur  hokjio;:  rj.'^  It  is  on  this 
principle,    that    Mr.    IMill  very    properly    refuses    to 

1  It  is  not  necessary  to  qualify  this  st.itcmcnt  by  cxccptinj,'  tlic  autlunity 
ascribed  to  (ucmnenical  councils.  Not  to  inention  that  they  are  assunieil  to 
be  coniposctl  of  specialists,  —  of  men  selected  from  the  \vh<ile  world  as  being 
precisely  those  who  arc  best  qualified  to  determine  the  question  at  issue ;  not 
to  mention,  moreover,  that  their  authority  is  by  sjieculative  minds  often  ex- 
plained away  so  as  to  strip  it  of  all  speculative  value:  it  is  obvious  that  that 
authority  rests  on  a  purely  theological  dogma  which  cannot  be  discussed  on 
strictly  philosophical  grounds. 

2  Compare  :  "  (Jne,  on  Ciod's  side,  is  a  majority." 


EI'ICUKI'.AN   TIIKOKIKS. 


169 


what, 
would 
what 
jrcncc 
;sump- 
■itlioiit 
vsump- 
at  the 
:)   that 

a  con- 
:aining 
11  form 
of  an- 
loyally 
;il  pur- 
con- 
xV 

uith  or- 
ations 
ng  at 
lativo 
r  lose 
n  this 
cs    to 

;uitlu)iily 
suinetl  Id 
as  be  in,;; 
isuc  ;  not 
)flUIl  c.\- 
lliat  tluit 
riisscd  on 


accept  the  opinions  of  uncpialitled  minds  as  deter- 
mining the  relative  value  of  different  jdeasures. 
There  is  no  ground  for  sui)posing  that  men  in  gen- 
eral have  peculiar  ciualifieations  for  reaching  the 
truth  in  regard  to  the  al)solute  value  of  pleasure,  any 
more  than  in  reference  to  other  questions  of  a  very 
abstract  nature.  Wliy  then  should  we  be  asked  to 
accept  the  opinions  of  men  in  general  as  decisive  on 
such  a  question,  even  if  these  opinions  were  obtainetl  ? 
2.  Bi'cu  if  tJicy  iK.hrc  obtained ;  for  an  a[)peal  to  the 
experience  of  men  assumes  that  you  have  ascertained 
the  convictions  which  they  have  deliberately  formed 
from  that  experience  in  regard  to  the  subject  of 
appeal.  In  taking  by  vote  the  opinion  of  any  society 
on  a  practical  issue,  the  question  is  usually  put  in  a 
distinct  form  before  the   voters  ;   but  no  attempt  has 


ever  been  mac 


)f 


le  t 


o  ascertani   w 


hat 


are 


th( 


op 


uiions, 


even  01   men    m   irener 


anc 


1   sti 


)f 


111  less  ot  men  spe- 


cially qualified  to  decide,  in  regard  to  the  theory  that 
pleasure  is  the  Sovereign  Good  of  human  life.  The 
utmost  that  can  be  claimed  is,  that  the  opinions  of 
men  have  been  gathered  from  tlieir  actions.  lUit 
even  if  tlu-ir  actions  uniforndy  pointed  to  the  same 


c-no 


this  could  not  be  taken  as  an   uneciuivoc 


al 


Ul(l 


:ition    o 


f    tl 


leir 


!"enuiiK' 


coiuictions.       In    fact,    tlie 


contrast  between  the  actions  of  men  anc 


1  tl 


leir  deei 


est  convictions  f(U-ms  a  familiar  theme  in  all  litera- 
ture.     The  saying  of  Ovid,^  — 


Vicl 


CD  inc'liora  piol)ij(|iic, 


Dctc 


noia  sc(iniir,    — 


1  M,lamoyf-h..  VII. 


Tiii^  contiMst  lias  m-vcr  liccn  nvn'  iviwcrfiilly 


expiTssi'd  than  in  the  well-known  words  of  St.  I'.uil  (Kuni.  vii.   i)-.''0;  ''nid 
the  coniincntators  ha\e  col!  ct'd  from  ancirn 
till'  above  in  iUusliation. 


t  liter.Uuic  vail' 


Ills    ll.l^^.l'L•^ 


like 


,  M' 


170 


AN    INTRODUCTION  TO   ETIITCS. 


)i 


is  frequently  ()iiotc(l  as  one  of  the  most  v'w'.d  cx- 
jirch.'.ions  of  this  contrast  in  tlic  litc'Miure  of  L),c 
ancient  ra_L;an  world.  Importunately  amon^^  the  mod- 
erns Mr.  Mill  has  touched  the  same  theme  in  sinc;u- 
larly  explicit  lanL;uaL;e.  Immediately  after  the  jias- 
siv^c  cited  above,  in  which  he  points  out  that  a  man 
must  know  the  hii;"her  as  well  as  the  lower  pleasures 
of  life  in  order  to  institute  any  comparison  between 
them,  Mr.  Mill  adds,  "  It  may  be  objected,  that  many 
who  are  capable  of  hi<;her  pleasures,  occasionally, 
under  the  influence  of  temptation,  postpone  them  to 
tile  lower.  JUit  this  is  (piite  compatible  with  a  full 
appreciation  of  the  intrinsic  superiority  of  the  hiL;"her. 
Men  often,  from  infirmity  of  character,  make  their 
election  for  the  nearer  t;"ood,  thou,L;li  they  know  it  to 
be  the  less  valuable,  and  this  no  less  when  the  'hoice 
is  between  two  bodily  pleasures  than  wlic  it  is 
between  bodily  and  nieni  1.  They  pursue  sensual 
indulL;ences  to  the  injury  of  health,  thou;.;h  perfectly 
aware  that  healtii  is  the  i;reater  good."  And  so  on 
to  the  same  effect.' 

The  ]ir(,:ference,  then,  which  even  educated  men 
show  in  their  C(Muluet  ;it  '^mu^'s  for  the  i;"rosser  |)leas- 
ures  of  sense,  does  not  ■•-  .'my  means  imply  a  cori'e- 
S]")ondinL!,"  [M'eference  in  spi  eulitive  eon\ietion.  in 
like  manner,  even  if  it  could  lie  shown  that  in  tlieii' 
actions  men  rdways  prefer  pleasure  to  everylhini; 
else,  tliis  emi)irical  fact  would  be  wholly  inadeipiate 
to  jirove  that  in  their  deliberate  convictions  they 
believed  pleasure  to  be  preferable  to  every  other 
object  of  human  pursuit.      So  far  from  this  beiui;  the 

'    U/t/i/(ii/iiii.\»/.  |i.  -,1  ;  (Anu'i.  inI.). 


men 

nTf- 
in 

h  i  11 1; 

IllKltC 

tlicy 

l)lluM- 

Lhc 


i 


a 


KPICURKAN   TIIlCOklKS. 


I/I 


belief  either  of  men  in  iren'T  i!  <  r  (f  specinlly  (|U'.ii- 
lietl  men  iw  particular,  ii  j^reat  body  of  evidence  indi- 
cates a  very  deep-seatetl  conviction  to  t'ne  contrary. 
In  the  first  place,  if  we  take  the  great  thinkers  who 
nil  u^)  the  history  of  Moral  Science,  as  specially  com- 
petent judges,  it  will  probidily  be  admitted  without 
hesitation  that  by  a  great  majority  they  have  refused 
to  recognize  [)leasure  as  being  the  Sovereign  Good 
of  human  life.  Or,  again,  we  may  take  those  per- 
sons of  humbler  pretensions,  who  may  yet  l)e  con- 
sidered in  some  sense  exi)erts  on  moral  tpiestions, 
because  they  have  devotedl)  applied  their  intelli- 
gence to  the  moral  direction  of  their  lives.'  Vvom 
this  noble  army  of  the  true  benefactors  of  the  world, 
there  has  come  in  all  ages  a  protest,  more  or  less  dis- 
tinct, against  any  princii)le  of  conduct  which  would 
make  i)leasure  the  oidy  absolute  good,  and  i)ain  the 
only  unmitigativl  evil,  in  human  life.  This  ])rotest 
has  found  a  vcvy  varied  utterance  especially  ni  a  tone 
of  thought,  running  through  all  the  higher  litera- 
ture of  the  world,  which  recogui/.es  the  benenr''nt 
discipline  of  pain  in  the  culture  of  human  chara^l<  ', 
This  tone  ot  thought,  while  opi)osed  to  any  Iv  .  a- 
rean  tlieory  of  life,  is  certainly  not  less  ojiposeu  to 
those  monstrosities  of  asceticism,  which  treat  pleas- 
ure as  if  it  were  in  itself  an  evil,  and  pain  as  \f  it 
were  in  itself  a  good  ;  but  it  does  miply  a  conviction 
gathered  from  the  purest  moral  experience  of  the 
human  race,  that  the  noblest  fruits  of  the  moral  life 
cannot  be  produced  except  by  self-renunciation  and 

1  Aristotle  very  properly  holil^^.  that,  t"  ^tiuiy  mor.il  science  \viti>  advantage, 
a  man  must  be  morally  well-trained  (/iV//.  .Y/i.,  I.  .(,  7). 


if' 

■li 

it 

i 

'    :     1 

jf 

^i 

1 

i 

172 


A\  i\M'';()i)i("'i'if)\  TO  i/niKs. 


ciulunmcc,  "- th;it  all 
throuirh  suffcrinifs." 


men   musl   be  "  nuidc   jjc 


rfcct 


"  His  bread  in  tears  wlio  iievei  aic, 

He  who  thrinigliDut  the  nii^lil's  sad  liours 
Upon  his  bed  ne'er  weepnii;  sale, 

He  knows  you  not,  ye  Heavenly  i'(n\ers  !  "' 

It  appears,  then,  tliat  an  appeal  to  the  facts  of 
human  experience  cannot,  from  any  point  of  view, 
be  regarded  as  i)rovin;j,-  eitlicr  that  men  in  general, 
or  that  competent  judges  in  parlieular,  have  dccitlc  1 
that  pleasure  is  their  greatest  good.  At  best  it 
coidd  merely  prove, — and  (as  we  have  seen)  it  does 
not  even  prove  tliis,  —  that  men  in  general  do,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  seek  pleasure  in  i)reference  to  every- 
thing else,  l^ut  what  is  in  itself  desirable  cannot  he 
ascertained  by  merely  observing  what  men  actually 
do  deSH'e.  An  appeal  to  such  empirical  obserxations 
involves  all  the  imperfections  of  that  purely  experi- 
mental or  chemical  method,  which  Mr.  Mill  rejects 
as  vvi^olly  inapplicable  to  tlie  problems  of  Social 
Science,  and  which  is  equally  inapplicable  to  the 
problems  of  Ethics.  The  true  method  for  the  solu- 
tion of  all  such  problems  is  that  which  I\Ir.  Mill 
describes  under  the  name  of  the  Historical  IVIethod. 
It  is  essentially  the  method  which  governs  the  l-'thics 
of  Aristotle,  and  which  has  guided  the  greatest  ethi- 
cal thinkers  since  his  time.  It  starts  from  the  uni- 
versal Invvs  of  human  nature,  and  verifies  by  an 
appeal  U>  experience  the  a  priori  inferences  derived 
from  these.     The  life  that  is  most  desirable  for  man 


1  Goethe.  Wilhclm  Master. 


F.VIC U R T'. A \    Til !•: D R T K S . 


^73 


he 
lu- 
Mill 


must  obviously  be  a  b'fc  adapted  to  his  constitu- 
tion ;  and,  clearly,  therefore,  our  constitution  must  be 
studied  first  in  order  to  find  out  our  Sovereii;!!  (jood. 
lUit  the  Sovereii^n  (jood  of  man  can  never  be  reached 
by  a  life  in  whieli  lie  is  assumed  to  be  merely  or 
even  primarily  a  sensitive  or^^anism,  however  refmed. 
I\Ian  is  essentially  a  reasonable  beini;-.  and  he  can 
find  no  conijilete  satisfaction  except  m  a  life  adapteil 
to  his  reason.  This  explains  why  it  is  thai;  in  the 
common  experience  of  men  the  pursuit  of  [)leasure, 
as  a  mere  gratification  of  sensibility,  is  foind  to  be 
utterly  disapi)ointinL;. 

The  Utilitarian  method,  therefore,  even  if  it  were 
successful  so  far  as  we  have  examined  it  critically, 
has  failed  to  carry  us  beyond  empirical  facts.  Its 
success  would  merely  imply  that  men  in  general  do, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  prefer  pleasure  to  every  thin^' 
else,  and  that  those  who  are  best  qualified  to  judge 
ilo,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  prefer  certain  pleasures  to 
others.  But  this  scarcely  brings  us  within  sight  of 
the  problem,  what  is  the  Sovereign  Good  that  man, 
as  a  reasonable  being,  ought  to  prefer  above  every 
other  object  of  pursuit  ?  And  consequently  it  need 
not  be  matter  of  surprise,  that  many  representatives 
of  l'4)icurean  bothies,  as  we  shall  see  more  full}'  again, 
are  content  to  accept  the  emi)U-ical  fact  of  men's 
[)references,  and  frankly  abandon  the  idea  of  any  real 
obligation  to  preferences  different  from  those  which 
are  actually  made. 


» 


VI 


174 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    ITIIICS. 


} ,  m 


(///.)    Ctiu  till'  rtilitariait  Criterion  of  Rii^/itncss  in 
Conduct  he  practically  applied? 

lUit  even  if  tliis  were  not  the  lo'^ical  result  of 
Utilitarianism,  —  even  if  it  sueceeded  in  provin^s  "ot 
only  that  men  aetiially  do  seek,  but  also  that  they 
ou;;lri  to  seek,  the  jj;reatest  quantity  of  pleasure  as 
their  Sovereign  Good,  it  still  remains  a  question 
whether  this  standard  of  morality  is  one  that  eould 
be  applied  in  practice.     The  difficulty  of  application 


th 


arises  irom  more  causes  than  one. 

(//)  We  have  nothing;  of  the  nature  of  an  "hedo- 
nometer,"  —  no  measure  by  which  the  cpiantities  of 
different  jileasures  can  be  determined. 

I.  This  difficulty  is  practically  insuperable  even 
when  the  problem  is  confined  to  its  sim[)ler  form, 
—  to  a  calculation  regarding  the  pleasures  of  indi- 
viduals. 

I.  The  simplest  form  of  all,  indeed,  \w  which  the 
problem  could  be  treated,  would  be  that  which  tries 
to  calculate  merely  the  intensity  of  a  feeling  while  it 
lasts.  l)Ut  even  in  this  limited  view  there  is  no  uni- 
lv)rm  standard  ujion  which  to  f(nmd  a  calculation.  A 
feeling  is  of  a  particular  intensity  to  the  person  who 
feels  it,  and  at  the  time  when  he  feels  it  ;  but  it  is 
not  necessarily  of  the  same  intensity  to  any  other 
person,  or  even  to  himself  at  any  other  time.  It  is 
therefore  a  familiar  fact,  that,  when  a  man  summons 
a  friend  to  particijiate  in  his  enjoyments,  he  may  be 
mortified  by  finding  that  the  friend  fails  to  show  the 
slightest  sympathy  with  the  feelings  which  had  given 
the  intens<:st  pleasure  to  himself.     It  is  equally  well 


I 
( 
c 
a 

h 


7tl 


th 


c 


ries 
Ic  it 


uni- 


w 


A 

bo 


It     IS 

Ithcr 

t    is 

kions 


th 


e 


ivcn 


wc 


11 


! 


KriCUKICAN   Tlir.oKIKS. 


'75 


kiiiiwn  to  every  iikui  of  reflection,  that,  if  he  seeks 
to  proloii.i;'  a  [)leasure  luululy  or  to  repeat  it  at  some 
other  time,  he  may  have  to  endure  a  hitter  disaj)- 
jjointment  in  eonseciuenee  of  tlie  varying;-  moods  of 
his  sensibility,  upon  which  the  intensity,  and  there- 
fore even  the  pleasantness,  of  all  his  feelings  de|)end. 

2.  The  |)r(>blem,  however,  becomes  obviously  more 
complicated,  if  we  take  into  account,  as  even  Paley 
admitted  we  must  do,  duration  as  well  as  intensity 
in  the  measuiement  of  our  feelin<;s  ;  and  what  cal- 
culus could  possibly  furnish  a  common  measure  for 
all  those  tpialities  of  feelini;-  which  I^entham  and 
other  modern  Utilitarians  have  introduced  into  the 
problem  ? 

3.  lUit  the  truth  is,  that  (piantity  is  a  cate^^ory 
which  cannot  be  applied  to  feelinj^s  as  such.  A  cpian- 
titative  calculation  recpiires  for  its  standard  of  com- 
jiarison  an  absolutely  homoi^eneous  unit,  or  rather  a 
series  of  such  units,  h'or  tpiantities  in  <;"enercd  this 
is  found  by  takin;^'  a  determinate  part  of  space.  l"'or 
space,  beiuL;  the  most  sim[)le,  tiie  UKvst  easily  de- 
hned,  the  most  in\'arial)le,  is  the  mo>t  measurable, 
of  all  c[uantities,  ami  becomes  thus  a  convenient 
standard  l)\-  which  other  cpiantities  may  be  compared. 
Thus  the  t[uantitv  of  heat  is  measureil  on  the  ther- 
mometer bv  taking"  as  an  unit  — as  oiit  (/if-jw  of  heat 


>> 


m 


-a  dehnite  space  occupied  by  a  certaui  cpiantit\-  of 
ereury  or  alcohol  ;  and  the  ijuantity  of  heat  in  any 
other  body  is  calculated  by  reterrini;-  to  the  number 
of  these  spaces  which  it  causes  the  mercury  or 
alcohol  to  till.  Ihit  by  this  process  the  cpiantity  of 
heat  is  measured  merely  as  an  objective  fact  ;  that  is, 


t\ 


i;r, 


AN     INI  knlU'C  |in\    fo    n'lllcs. 


'  I 


I. 


iil 


the  j)hysical  coinlition  «il  one  hnd^  is  (Iclcnninccl  by 
foinparison  with  llic  physical  coii'htion  the  expan- 
sion or  conliactioii  of  another.  We  may  thus 
define,  in  (piantitative  terms,  the  temperature  of  our 
bodies;  l)ut  it  recpiires  ik*  iirotoiiiul  I'sycholoi'.y,  it 
requires  only  a  moderate  refleetion  on  common  exjK'- 
rienee,  to  leai  n  that  our  feehngs  of  heat  show  no 
exact  or  uniform  correspondence  with  the  readini;; 
of  the  thermometer.  On  the  contrary,  the  same 
objective  temperature  may  be  accompanied  with  very 
different  tliermal  sensations  in  different  persons  at 
the  same  time  or  e\en  in  the  same  i)erson  at  (hffer- 
ent  times  :  and  consecpiently  the  scientific  physician 
does  not  accept  the  sensations  of  temperature  expe- 
rienced by  his  patient  as  imhtatini;  exactly  the  real 
temperature  of  the  patient's  ixxly  ;  but  he  corrects 
the  inexact  indications  of  a  varying-  sensibility  by  the 
unerring  indications  of  the  thermometer. 

What  is  thus  found  to  be  true  of  the  simplest 
feelings,  such  as  the  sensations  of  temperature,  holds 
ec[ually,  or  rather  still  more  strongly,  of  our  complex 
emotions.  As  Mr.  Leslie  Stej-)hen  remarks,  "  No 
judgment  of  pleasure  proceeding  by  this  method  of 
direct  inspection  can  ha\'e  much  authority.  We  are 
very  bad  judges  even  of  our  own  pleasures,  and  wc 
have  innumerable  temptations  to  give  a  colored 
judgment.  We  may  therefore  always  appeal  from  a 
man's  avowed  sentiments  to  his  i)ractice."  ^  This 
appeal  to  the  practice  of  men,  as  explained  in  the 
above  exposition  of  Utilitarianism,  is  the  only  test 
by  which  the  Utilitarian  professes  to  bo  able  to  esti- 

^  Science  of  Ethics,  p.  400. 


'  i 


EPICL'UKAN   TIIKOKIKS. 


177 


[iiplcst 

holds 

mplcx 

"No 
od  of 
'c  arc 
nd  wc 
)lorc'tl 
roin  a 

This 
n  the 
y  test 
)  esti- 


mate the  (|uantitli'S  of  different  pleasures.  "What 
means  are  there,"  asks  Mr.  Mill,  "of  determinini; 
which  is  the  acutest  of  two  pains,  or  the  intensesl  of 
two  pleasurable  sensations,  except  the  .i^eneral  suf- 
fraire  of  those  who  are  familiar  with  both  ?  Neither 
pains  nor  pleasures  are  honio.L^eneous,  anil  pain  is 
always  heteroi^eneous  with  |)leasure.  What  is  there 
to  decide  whether  a  particular  pleasure  is  worth  pur 
chasing  at  the  cost  of  a  particular  pain,  except  the 
feelin.i;s  ami  judi^menl  of  the  experienceil  .<*"  ^ 

We  have  now,  therefore,  to  iiKjuire  into  the  valid- 
ity of  this  test.  v\t  the  very  outset  the  test  be 
comes  somewhat  i)erplexinj^  in  view  of  the  fad, 
admitted  by  I\Ir.  Mill  in  a  passaij;e  cpioted  above,  that 
many  men,  who  are  ca})able  of  higher  pleasures,  do 
occasionally  in  [)ractice  prefer  the  lower.  lUit  even 
if  this  difficulty  be  set  aside,  there  are  (jther  per[)lex- 
ities  in  vol  veil  in  an  ap[)eal  to  men's  preference  of 
certain  pleasures  as  beini^^  a  tlecisive  test  of  the 
value  of  these.  Such  an  appeal  implies  a  triple 
comparison. 

(i)  The  comparison  may  be  between  different 
feelinL;'s  of  the  same  jierson  at  the  same  time.  It  is 
alwa)s  important  to  h^'ar  in  mind  that  the  tpiantita- 
tive  estimate  of  our  pleasures  and  pains  is  not  sim- 
ply the  mensui'ation  of  a  single  feelin^c^,  but  the 
commensuration  of  different  feelin_i;'s.  Now,  even  if 
the  different   feelimrs  were  of  the  same  order,  their 


commensuration  would  be  practically  impossil\le. 
Can  the  most  accomplished  epicure  always  decide 
1  etween   the   pleasures   tlerived   res[)ecti\ely   from   a 

1    ( 'tilitiii  itiiiisi/,\  p   ;,i  I  (Aiiicr.  cil.). 


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178 


A\    INTRODUCTION   TO   KTHICS. 


'f\H 


n 


bottle  of  sparkling  hock  and  :x  pdtcUic  foic  gras  f  or  a 
poetical  critic  determine  with  certainty  whether 
**  Hamlet"  or  "  Faust  "  will  give  the  greater  quantity 
of  aesthetic  enjoyment  ?  But  for  the  purposes  of  the 
moral  life  the  feelings  to  be  compared  are  often,  on 
the  face  of  them,  absolutely  heterogeneous,  nor  are 
there  any  conceivable  homogeneous  units  with  which 
they  may  be  compared  in  common  ;  so  that  for  human 
thought  they  must  be  treated  as  absolutely  incom- 
mensurable. How  can  you  bring  into  intelligible 
comparison  the  pleasure  of  eating  a  good  dinner  with 
that  of  doing  a  kind  act  or  reading  a  beautiful  poem 
or  hearing  a  beautiful  song  ?  The  very  language  of 
such  a  comparison,  as  Air.  Leslie  Stephen  truly 
remarks,  is  essentially  "  nonsensical.  Only  an  in- 
fant compares  his  love  for  his  cousin  with  his  love 
for  jam-tart."  ^  1  he  truth  is,  that  all  such  compari- 
sons involve  an  absurdity  of  the  same  kind  witli  that 
of  weighing  what  is  imponderable  or  of  measuring  by 
the  same  standard  things  that  are  incommensurable. 
To  calculate  the  value  of  our  pleasures  by  their 
quantity  is  like  an  attempt  to  lay  a  sunbeam  on  our 
scales,  or  to  estimate  the  genius  embodied  in  the 
Laocoon  by  the  weight  of  its  marble. 

(2)  But  this  calculation  implies  not  merely  a 
comparison  between  the  feelings  of  a  person  at 
any  one  moment :  it  is  complicated  by  a  necessary 
reference  to  the  changes  in  his  sensibility,  that  are 
produced  by  time.  We  are  thus  brought  again  to 
the  fact,  which  has  been  referred  to  already,  and 
the   full    significance   of    which    will    appear    more 

1  Science  of  Ethics^  pp.  400,  401. 


:5i^   I 


Kl'ICURKAN    TIIKOKIKS. 


179 


f  or  a 
ht'thcr 
lantity 
of  the 
:cn,  on 
lor  arc 
1  which 
human 
incom- 
Ihiiihlc 
cr  with 
1  poem 
Liafre  of 
n    truly 
an   in- 
lis  U)vc 
onipari- 
ith  that 
liring  by 
surablc. 
)y    their 
on  our 
in  the 

erely  a 
rson  at 
ecessary 
that  are 
again  to 
idy,  and 
\r    more 


clearly  hereafter,  that  a  feelini;  has  a  particular 
(legree  of  pleasantness  to  any  individual  merely  at 
the  time  when  he  feels  it,  but  that  he  can  never 
predicate  of  it  an  uniform  degree  of  pleasantness, 
even  for  himself. 

(3)  There  is,  however,  still  another  comparison 
involved  in  the  commensuration  of  pleasures,  —  a 
comparison  between  different  persons.  This  com- 
parison, as  we  have  seen,  often  leads  to  disappoint- 
ment in  practical  life,  when  we  expect  the  sympa- 
thies of  others  ;  and,  consequently,  it  involves  a 
corresponding  perplexity  in  theory.  "  If  I  prefer 
Shakespeare  to  a  mutton-chop"  (Mr.  Leslie  Stephen 
is  quoted  again),  "  I  may  say  that  I  so  far  judge 
the  pleasures  of  imagination  to  be  preferable  for 
me  to  those  of  the  senses.  But  how  can  I  leap 
from  tiiat  proposition  to  the  proposition  that  they 
are  preferable  for  others }  They  are  clearly  not 
preferable  for  the  pig,  or  to  the  Patagonian,  or 
even  to  those  civilized  men  who  are  in  this  matter 
of  the  pig's  way  of  thinking.  At  most,  I  may  infer 
that  certain  cultivated  minds  find  more  pleasure  in 
poetry  than  in  eating,  but  still  it  does  not  follow 
that  the  cultivated  man  finds  more  pleasure  in 
poetry  than  the  sensual  man  finds  in   eating."^ 

What,  then,  is  the  conclusion  to  which  we  are 
forced  in  regard  to  the  practicability  of  applying 
the  Utilitarian  theory  b)-  a  computation  of  diiTerent 
quantities  of  pleasure  }  As  the  nature  of  the  prob- 
lem at  issue  has  come  to  be  more  clearly  defined, 
any  attempt   to  grai)ple   with   it  thoroughly  has   led 

1  Science  of  Ethics^  pp.  400,  401. 


!!: 


^^ 


hli!t 


m\ 


If'  I 


I  So 


AN    INTRODUCTION   T(J    KTIIICS. 


!i 


the  expositors  of  Utilitarianism  themselves  to  point 
out  that  a  direct  quantitative  calculation  by  a  pro- 
cess at  all  resemblini;-  the  calculation  of  quantities 
in  general  is  out  of  the  question  in  reference  to 
our  feelings  of  i)leasure  and  pain.  Iwery  attempt 
to  give  a  quantitative  definition  to  these  feelings 
reduces  itself  to  the  bare  fact  of  certain  feelinirs 
being,  under  certain  conditions,  preferred.  Even 
this  preference  is  a  fact  of  very  limited  significance. 
It  means  simply  that  the  person  who  chooses  a 
certain  pleasure  prefers  it  at  the  time,  not  that  even 
he  will  prefer  it  always,  and  still  less  that  it  will 
rlways,  or  even  at  any  time,  be  preferred  by  all 
other  persons.  There  must  of  course  be  some  rea- 
son for  the  preferences  which  men  display  ;  but  the 
supposition  that  these  preferences  are  based  on  any 
calculation  of  different  quantities  of  pleasantness  is 
a  perfectly  gratuitous  assumption. 

II.  We  have  taken  the  problem  of  calculating  the 
quantities  of  different  pleasures  in  its  simplest  form, 
as  confined  to  the  life  of  the  individual ;  and  we  have 
seen  that,  even  in  this  form,  the  problem  is  practi- 
cally insoluble.  It  needs  not  many  words,  therefore, 
to  confirm  this  conclusion  by  pointing  out  the  numer- 
ous additional  complications  which  are  introduced 
into  the  problem  when  we  pass  from  the  individual 
to  socie<"y.  For  here  not  only  must  the  general  prob- 
lem of  Ethics  be  solved  by  determining  the  compara- 
tive cjuantities  of  pleasure  which  different  feelings 
yield  in  any  individual,  but,  in  addition  to  this, 
individual  must  be  poised  against  individual,  nation 
against   nation,   the  society  of  the  present   against 


i 


F.nCUREAN   TIIF.ORTES. 


i8i 


point 
a  pro- 
ntitics 
ICC  to 
tempt 
;clini;s 
iclings 

Even 
icancc. 
oses  a 
Lt  even 

it  will 

by  all 
me  rea- 
but  tbc 

on  any 
:ncss  is 

nig  the 
t  form, 
vc  have 

practi- 
ercf jre, 
numer- 
-oducecl 
lividual 
a  I  prob- 
3mpara- 

c  clings 
to  this, 
,  nation 

against 


that  of  the  future,  in  order  to  decide  between  their 
competing  interests  ;  while  all  the  various  forms 
of  political  and  social  and  domestic  organization 
obtrude  their  rival  claims  to  be  considered  the  best 
means  for  securing  the  greatest  quantity  of  pleasure 
to  the  greatest  number  of  persons.  It  would  not 
be  fair,  indeed,  to  Utilitarians  to  suppose  that  the 
complexity  of  social  problems  is  avoided  by  aban- 
doning their  ethical  theory.  Ikit  the  unravelling 
of  that  complexity  becomes  a  hopeless  task,  if  it 
has  to  be  approached  through  a  simi-)ler  individual- 
istic problem  which  is  itself  practically  insoluble. 

(/))  But  there  is  another  aspect  under  .vhich  the 
difficulty  of  applying  the  Utilitarian  standard  is 
forced  upon  the  mind.  The  conditions  under  which 
pleasure  is  excited  are  such,  that  an  efTort  which 
makes  pleasure  its  supreme  end  is  very  apt  to 
defeat  itself.  Those  conditions  are  twofold,  objec- 
tive as  well  as  subjective. 

I.  Pleasure  is  obviously  excited  in  the  exercise 
of  our  various  powers,  and  these  are  themselves 
called  into  play  by  being  furnished  with  appropriate 
objects.  For  the  promotion  of  happiness  this  fact 
becomes  of  special  importance,  not  so  much  in  the 
case  of  our  passive  sensations,  as  rather  with  regard 
to  those  active  exertions,  whether  of  body  or  of  mind, 
upon  which  it  is  acknowledged  that  our  happiness 
mainly  depends.  It  is  obvious  that  the  pleasure  to 
be  derived  from  these  exertions  requires  the  stimu- 
lation of  a  free  and  full  activity,  and  that  such  an 
activity  cannot  be  called  forth  except  by  the  mind 
being  occupied  with  the  object  to  which  the  activity 


II  I 


.    ,11 


1 1 


f^li 


^ 


( 


IK  I 


■  i 


182 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


is  directed.  This  is  perhaps  particularly  clear  in  such 
familiar  and  simple  exertions  as  those  of  the  chase 
or  any  other  form  of  sport.  The  pleasure  evoked  is 
always  dependent  on  the  complete  self-forgetfulness 
with  which  we  surrender  ourselves  to  the  immediate 
object  of  the  game;  and  any  self-p^ratulation  over  the 
})leasantness  of  our  subjective  condition  is  essentially 
a  distraction  which  tends  to  mar  the  purity  of  that 
l^leasantness  itself.  Life  has  often  been  compared 
to  the  chase,  because  all  its  activities  imply  the 
pursuit  of  some  object ;  and  the  conditions  of  pleas- 
urable pursuit  arc  the  same,  whether  the  object  be 
among  the  loftiest  to  which  the  mind  can  be  devoted, 
or  merely  the  ephemeral  success  of  winning  a  simple 
game.  We  are  thus  brought,  by  another  road,  to 
an  explanation  of  the  fact,  which  has  been  already 
referred  to  as  obtruded  in  the  universal  experience 
of  the  world,  that  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  as  an  end 
in  itself  is  inevitably  disappointing  ;  and  we  arc  thus 
forced  to  look  beyond  pleasure  for  a  larger  good 
which  can  comprehend  pleasure  itself. 

II.  But  this  conclusion  is  confirmed  by  referring 
to  the  subjective  condition  of  pleasure,  that  is,  the 
state  of  the  sensibility.^  This  condition  reminds  us 
that  even  the  pursuit  of  an  object  which  is  generally 
pleasurable  does  not  in  every  particular  case  yield 
pleasure.  In  fact,  the  subjective  condition  of  pleas- 
ure is  so  obvious,  that  it  forced  itself  on  the  atten- 

1  This  subject  is  treated  witli  great  fulness  by  Mr.  Spencer  in  liis  Data  of 
Ethics  (chapter  x.,  on  tlie  Relativity  of  P/casiocs  and  Pains).  He  cxat;- 
gcrates,  I  think,  tiic  extent  to  whicli  tills  relativity  of  feeling  has  been  ignored ; 
but  he  gives  many  novel  illustrations,  especially  of  its  bearing  on  tlie  evolu- 
tion of  the  moral  life,  both  in  the  individual  and  in  the  race. 


\ 


X. 


KT'ICl'RKAX   THF.ORTK:). 


183 


n  such 
chase 
kcd  is 
;uh"icss 
lediatc 
/cr  the 
;ntially 
jf  that 
n pared 
>ly   the 
pleas- 
ject  be 
evoted, 
simple 
oad,  to 
ah-eady 
eriencc 
an  end 
re  thus 


<rood 


iferring 
is,  the 
inds  us 
;nerariy 
e  yield 
f  pleas- 
2  atten- 

lis  Dafa  of 
He  cxat;- 

:n  ignored ; 
tlic  cvolu- 


tion    of   the  earliest    thinkers  wlio    reflected  on    the 


biect, 


iUDJ 


and  reeeivec 


1  an 


exairffer 


ated 


recoirnition  in 


one  of  the  oldest  theories  of  pleasure  and  pain,  —  a 


th 


eor 


y 


diich 


mamtc' 


that  nothi 


)1( 


It 


asanl 
])anitul  \w  Itself,  but  derives  its  pleasantness  or  i)ain- 
fulness  wholly  from  the  state  of  our  sensibility  — 
our  want  or  satiety  —  at  the  tirne.^  It  is  this  fact, 
also,  that  has  sometimes  brouf^ht  the  extreme  of 
Hedonism  to  meet  the  extreme  of  Stoicism,  by 
inculcating;  the  practical  wisdom  of  treatin<;  ex- 
ternal things  as  indifferent,  and  seekhig  our  real 
happiness    in   our   internal    condition. - 

But  without  going  to  any  extreme,  it  is  obvious, 
that,  as  objects  derive  their  pleasantness,  not  from 
their  own  properties  alone,  but  from  the  state  of  our 
sensibility  also,  and  as  the  state  of  the  sensibility  is 
extremely  vacillating,  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  is  beset 
with  a  serious  uncertainty.  Change  of  stimulation 
is  an  essential  law  of  sensibility  ;  for  a  prolonged 
impression  upon  any  sense  produces  a  numbness 
which  destroys  sensation.  This  leads  to  a  twofold 
result.  In  the  first  place,  every  excitement  of  the 
sensibility,  however  pleasant,  is  more  or  less  fleeting  ; 
and,  as  we  have  seen,  the  most  intense  pleasures  are 
precisely  those  which  endure  for  '.he  shortest  time. 
WwX.  a  second  result  is,  that,  owing  to  changes  in  the 
state  of  our  sensibility,  objects  are  perpetually  dis- 
appointing us  by  failing  to  yield  an  expected  pleasure, 
such  as  they  had  given  before. 

1  Tlic  theory  was  lield.  among  tlie  Cyicnaics,  by  Ilegcsias  and  liis  follow- 
ers {Dios;,  Lacrt.,  II.  94),  and  seems  to  be  countenanced  by  Plato  i;i  tlie 
PliiM'us. 

-  ^ee,  lor  cxanijile,  tlie  doctrine  of  Ilegcsias  again  in  Diog:  La'cri.     {Ibid.) 


I  I' 


\\ 


t    ;   ! 


:f. 


1 84 


AN   INTKODUCTIOX  TO  ETHICS. 


iiU 


h 


f  ■ 


■;.! 


.  .) 


^^1 


It  was  facts  like  these  that  led  some  of  the  old 
Greeks  '  to  l)rin<;  pleasure,  considered  merely  as  an 
excitement  of  sensibility,  untler  a  category  which  we 
find  it  sometimes  difficult  to  exp'X'ss  in 


the  L 


muuau'e 


of  modern  thought,  —  the  category  of  /o  m;  or,  the 
meaning  of  which  is,  fo  ■  our  purposes,  perhaps  suf- 
ficiently indicated  by  such  terms  as  noi/iingiicss,  uon- 
entity,  ituirality,  a  vwrc  sJiaui.  And  thus  once  more 
we  are  brought  to  the  old  ex})erience,  that  the  pur- 
suit of  pleasure,  as  if  it  were  in  ii.self  satisfactory, 
is  doomed  to  disappointment.  The  pursuit  inevita- 
bly realizes  the  evanescence  of  the  pleasurable  excite- 
ments in  which  satisfaction  has  been  sought,  and  the 
intolerable  wc  ariness  of  a  sated  sensibility  that  will 
not  be  roused  by  any  of  its  old  stimulants.  In  the 
literature  of  all  ages,  tberefore,  it  is  your  deliberate 
voluptuary  who,  after  exhausting  the  round  of  earthly 
pleasures,  appears  to  point  a  moral  by  his  torment- 
ing discovery  of  the  utter  emptiness  of  the  pursuits 
in  which  his  life  has  been  thrown  away.  And  this 
experience  of  the  practical  voluptuary  has,  not  infre- 
cjucntly,  found  its  counterpart  in  the  speculative  issue 
of  theoretical  Hedonism.     If  pleasure  is  the  supreme 

1  For  example.  Plato  in  the  Pli'ilchtts  nnd  the  Rcf'ublic  (f  'ik  IX.).  The 
sentiment  j,'ives  a  tone  to  many  of  the  more  earnest  strains  of  .  lodern  litera- 
ture.    Burns  lias  given  it  as  \ivi(.l  expression  as  any  writer:  — 

"  Ihit  jileasures  are  like  jioppies  spread, 
You  seize  the  Howcr,  its  bloom  is  slicd  ; 
Or  like  tiie  snowfall  in  the  river, 
A  moment  white,  then  melts  forever  ; 
Or  like  the  borealis  race, 
'J'liat  Hit  ere  you  can  point  their  place  ; 
Or  like  the  rainbow's  lovely  form, 
Evanishintj  amid  the  storm." 


EriCURKAN   TIIKORIES. 


1S5 


end  of  existence, —-the  only  real  boon  which  life  has 
to  bestow  upon  mer.,  — then  it  is  not  altoj^ether  sur- 
prisinj;-  that  some  thinkers,  who  start  irom  this  as- 
sumption, should  feel  themselves  at  times  lop;ically 
driven  to  a  point  of  view  which  sees  in  natural  laws 
but  a  very  imperfect  adaptation  to  serve  the  only  v;d- 
uable  purpose  of  human  life.  And  from  the  time  of 
IIe<i;esias  amon<^  the  ancient  Greeks,  down  to  our  own 
day,  it  stands  an  historical  fact,  that  Pessimism  has 
commonly  been  built  on  the  foundation  ot  Hedonism. 

(/:'.)     Would   *J(c    Utilitarian    Criterion    of  Rig/itncss 
yield  such  a  Code  of  ]\Torality  as  is  iiiculcatcd  among 
Civi!i:::cd  N'ations  ? 

]kit  now,  waiving  all  the  difficulties  which  have 
hitherto  been  uriied  a2;ainst  Utilitarianism,  we  are 
brought  to  the  question,  whether  it  would  yield  such 
a  code  of  morality  as  is  recognized  in  the  highest 
moral  civilization.  This  question  must  always  form 
the  ultimate  test  of  any  ethical  theory,  for  every  such 
theory  must  furnish  at  least  a  philosophical  explana- 
tion of  the  moral  life  which  has  been  developed  in 
the  world. 

The  Utilitarian  cheory  at  once  obtrudes  on  the 
speculative  inquirer  the  relation  between  virtue  on 
the  one  hand,  and  pleasure  or  happiness  on  the  other. 
Now,  on  the  face  of  it,  this  relation  cannot  be  de- 
scribed as  a  direct  proportion  cither  of  mathematical 
exactness  or  even  of  practical  uniformity.  On  the 
one  hand,  it  cannot  be  said  either  that  every  pleasant 
action  is  virtuous,  or  that  every  virtuous  action  is 
pleasant  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  equally  im- 


li 


itr 


1X6 


AN    IN'I  kODTCTION    TO   l/l'l  I  KS. 


f  ■ 


f 


m 


])ossil)lc  to  affirm  that  every  painful  action  is  vicious, 
or  that  every  vicious  action  is  {(ainful.  ll  is  true, 
there  is  obviously  a  certain  j^eneral  coincidence  be- 
tween virtue  and  the  true  happiness  of  a  man  whose 
moral  sensibility  is  sufficiently  refined  to  enjoy  the 
pleasure  of  virtuous  li\'in?^  ;  while  for  such  a  man  it 
may  also  be  admitted  that  vicious  conduct  will  usu 
ally  be  accompanied  with  sufferiu^i;.  This  general 
coincidence  of  virtue  and  hapi)iness  has  been  a  com- 
monplace among  moralists  of  all  ages  and  of  every 
school.  Jiut  it  is  a  theme  adapted  rather  for  the 
ix)pular  exposition  and  practical  enforcement  of  vir- 
tue than  for  the  satisfaction  of  speculative  reason. 
1  lowever  useful  for  its  purposes,  the  theme  is  based 
on  a  superficial  truth,  and  cannot  therefore  be  rigidly 
ai)plied  as  if  it  expressed  an  uniform  law. 

(A)  In  the  first  place,  it  does  not  always  hold  for 
the  imiividual :  it  does  not  hold  either  in  the  sphere 
of  his  social  or  in  that  of  his  private  virtues, 

I.  A  community,  indeed,  in  which  social  morality 
is  so  high  that  a  large  number  can  always  be  found 
ready  to  sacrifice  their  private  interests  for  the  pub- 
lic weal,  will,  of  course,  stand  a  good  chance  in  the 
struggle  for  existence  with  any  community  in  which 
the  virtue  of  self-sacrificing  patriotism  is  feeble.  lUit 
this  implies  that  in  such  a  community  the  individual 
must  often  go  to  the  wall  as  a  result  of  his  virtuous 
action.  Is  there  any  Utilitarian  vindication  of  his 
self-sacrifice  } 

Very  often  the  conflict  of  Egoism  and  Altruism 
is  simply  slurred  over.  It  is  assumed,  in  a  vague 
sort  of  way,  that  I  attain  the  Utilitarian  end  of  life, 


m 


Krifl'RKAN     rilKOUIKS. 


S7 


if    I 


secure    pleasure   to   any    man    <>r   men,   witliout 


reuard  to  my  own.     This  seems  to  be  tlie  indefinite 

f    Mr.    Mill's    rtilitiiria)iis)ii :    at 


>} 
assumption    even    o 

least  he  makes  no  definite  attempt  to  f.;rapple  with 

the  problem.     Sometimes,  however,  the  assumption 


tak 


es   a   more    definite    form,   wliich    serves    on 


briuL;'  out   more  clearly   its  unsatisfactory  character 


It 


IS  asserted 


that. 


owing  to  our  so(Mal   disjiositions, 


Ib.e  ha])piness  of  others  is  necessary  to  our  own,  and 
th.at  this  forms  the  Utilitarian  vindication  of  the  dis- 
interested virtues.  This  plea,  wdiich  is  met  with  all 
throu[;h  the  history  cf  lC})icurean  speculation,  even 
fiom  the  time  of  the  ancient  Cyrenaics,  seems  to 
indicate  the  loj^ical  tendency  of  Utilitarianism  to  de- 
fj^encrate  into  ligoism.  lUit,  as  wo  have  already 
seen,^  such  an  Egoistic  plea  is  incompetent  before 
the  tribunal  of  Utilitarianism  ;  and  whatever  may 
have  been  the  common  doctrine  of  Epicurean  moral- 
ists in  former  times,  certainly  the  most  eminent 
Utilitarians  of  recent  date  show  no  hesitancy  in 
admittinif  disinterested  self-sacrifice  to  be  a  fact 
in  the  moral  life  of  the  world. 

It  is  thus  admitted  that  there  is  a  veritable  con- 
flict between  the  claims  of  individual  enjoyment  and 
those  of  the  general  happiness,  and  that  the  moral 
life  often  requires  a  partial,  if  not  a  complete,  sur- 
render of  the  former  for  the  sake  of  the  latter. 
If,  therefore,  Utilitarianism  is  to  be  regarded  as  a 
satisfactory  theory  of  the  moral  life,  it  must  offer 
some  vindication  of  those  disinterested  virtues  which 
hold  the  noblest  place  in  the  moral  code  of  the  civil- 

1  Above,  {).  ID.]. 


k 


11 


<l 


i 

it' 


\) 


.^ 


1 88 


AN    IXTRODlc   IION  TO    KTIIKS. 


izcd  world.  Now,  there  :irc  three  modes  which  have 
l)een  suj;f;este(l  for  exjilaiiiin^^  the  disinterestedness 
of  social  virtue.  These  may  be  distinf^uishcd  as  the 
psycholo<^ical,  the  theolo.L;ical,  and  the  evolutional. 

1.  A /'.s;;'t7/^'^i,''/<v?/ explanation  of  disinterestedness 
has,  as  we  have  seen,  been  rendered  by  Kpicurean 
moralists  from  very  ancient  times.  They  point  to 
the  fact  that,  by  the  stren.i^th  of  the  associations 
which  habitual  actions  engender,  we  may  bring  our- 
selves at  last  to  love,  for  its  own  sake,  somethiuLC 
which  is  not  intrinsically  lovable,  and  which,  there- 
fore, in  the  first  instance,  is  loved  only  for  the  sake 
of  something  else.  lUit  this  is  obviously  no  solution 
of  the  ethical  problem  which  the  altruistic  virtues 
present.  It  is  merely  a  psychological  explanation  of 
Altruism,  —  an  account  of  the  psychical  process  by 
which  altruistic  affections  may  be  developed  in  a 
psychical  constitution  that  is  primarily  and  intrinsi- 
cally egoistic.  It  is  no  ethical  vindication  of  Altru- 
ism ;  that  is  to  say,  although  it  may  prove  the 
possibility  of  unselfish  affection  and  unselfish  action, 
it  cannot  pretend  to  touch  the  real  problem  at  issue. 
Why  is  it  reasonable  to  sacrifice  our  haj)piness  for 
any  conceivable  object,  if  happiness  is  the  only  object 
for  which  it  is  reasonable  to  live  ? 

2.  But  there  is  a  second  method  of  solving  this 
problem,  which  appears  to  harmonize  with  the  funda- 
mental principle  of  Epicurean  Ethics,  since  it  as- 
sumes that  pleasure  is  the  Sovereign  Good.  This  is 
the  method  of  solution  adopted  by  the  school  who 
may  be  called  Theological  Utilitarians,  of  whom 
English  literature  affords  an  eminent  representative 


:'tl 


ki'u:l;ki:.\\   iiii oiuks. 


1S9 


in  Palcy.  They  admit,  implicitly  :r  .;xjilicitly,  that 
within  tlic  rani;L'  of  c.\])cricncL',  tliu  conflict  between 
IC^oism  antl  Altruism  cannot  be  reconciled,  and  ac- 
cordinL;ly  they  seek  a  conciliation  in  a  transcen- 
dental sphere.  This  solution  finds  peculiarly  distinct 
expression  in  I'aley's  definition  of  virtue  as  "  the 
doing  good  to  mankind,  in  obedience  to  the  will  of 
God,  and  for  the  sake  of  everlasting  hapi)iness.  Ac- 
cording to  which  definitio!!,"  he  adds,  "'the  good 
of  mankind'  is  the  subject;  'the  will  of  (lod'  the 
rule ;  and  '  everlasting  happiness '  the  motive  of 
human  virtue."  '  This  is  certainly  frank.  What  the 
Accuser  of  mankind  is  described  as  merely  insinuat- 
ing with  regard  to  Job,  is  here  bluntly  asserted  in  a 
scientific  formula  with  regard  to  all  men.  Human 
virtue,  on  this  theory,  is  never  disinterested.  If 
"  the  doing  good  to  mankind  in  accordance  with  the 
will  of  God  "  does  occasionally  entail  a  sacrifice  of 
happiness  at  the  time,  that  is  merely  a  very  limited 
expenditure  which  is  more  than  amply  repaid  by 
an  unlimited  return.  Now,  whatever  purpose  such 
statements  may  serve  in  popular  illustrations  of  the 
moral  life,  it  is  obvious  that,  if  they  are  taken  with 
scientific  exactness,  they  imply  a  desertion  of  the 
imposing  fortress  of  Utilitarianism,  a  retreat  into 
the  petty  fort  of  Egoism.  The  only  distinction 
of  the  Theological  Egoist,  as  contrasted  with  the 
Empirical,  is,  that  he  substitutes  for  the  pleasures 
of  this  world  those  of  another. 

This  lapse  towards  the  egoistic  point  of  view  he.;-; 
been  already  referred  to  as   representing  a  natural 

1  Moral  and  Political  Philosophy^  Book  I.  chaptc  vii. 


'f:  \ 


111' 


11, 

'  1 


I!       I 


190 


AN   INTRODUCTION  To    liTIIICS. 


n 


If 


H  '1 


!i  \V 


'I 


m 


tendency  of  I^picurean  I^thics.  Voy  l\i(oism  shows, 
on  a  superficial  view  at  least,  a  logical  self-consist- 
ency which  does  not  readily  appear  in  any  system 
that  attempts  to  vindicate  an  altruistic  morality  on 
the  thi.'ory  that  pleasure  is  the  only  object  for  which 
it  is  reasonable  to  live.  ]Uit,  whatever  real  or  appar- 
ent self-consistency  Egoism  may  })ossess,  even  if  it 
can  be  described  as  a  theory  of  morality  at  all,  it  is 
certainly  irreconcilable  with  the  facts  of  the  moral 
life  among  the  most  civilized  races  of  the  world. 

This  is  perhaps  especially  clear  in  the  case  of 
Theological  Egoism.  For  this  system  is  beset  with 
a  double  difficulty,  — one  on  its  ethical,  the  other  on 
its  theological,  side.  In  the  first  place,  it  assumes 
that  disinterested  virtue  is  impossible ;  that,  when 
the  virtuous  man  appears  to  act  unselfishly,  he  is  in 
reality  merely  giving  up  a  petty  gratification  of  the 
moment  for  the  sake  of  one  that  is  infinitely  greater. 
Now,  no  unprejudiced  observation  of  moral  experi- 
ence justifies  such  an  assumption.  Not  to  mention 
again  those  instances  of  a  peculiarly  tragic  martyr- 
dom which  have  been  noticed  above,  the  common  life 
of  men  is  illuminated  every  hour  with  deeds  of  self- 
denying  kindness,  in  which  there  is  obviously  no 
thought  of  compen^  ition,  either  here  or  hereafter  ; 
and  it  would  certainly  be  straining  a  theory  beyond 
the  limits  of  logical  cohesion,  if  these  actions  were  to 
i)e  stigmatized  as  merely  splcndida  vitin,  because  the 
agents,  while  doing  them,  had  not  an  eye  to  the  main 
chance  in  a  future  life,  l^ut  on  its  theological  side, 
also,  this  system  of  Egoism  is  open  to  an  objection 
which  is  equally  formidable.    For  an  alliance  between 


TOWS, 

nsist- 

^stcm 

ty  on 

.vhich 

i})par- 

i  if  it 

,  it  is 

moral 

1. 

ase  of 

t  with 

licr  on 

isumcs 
when 

c  is  in 

of  the 

rcater. 
xpcri- 
cntion 
artyr- 
on  life 
f  self- 
sly  no 
:after  ; 
3eyond 
vcre  to 
ise  the 
e  main 
i\  side, 
jection 
tween 


ki'Ki;ri;ax  tiikokiks. 


191 


Theology  and  Egoistic  Hedonism  is  one  that  cannot 
continue  under  the  close  acquaintance  into  which  the 
allies  are  thrown.  As  each  learns  more  thoroughly 
the  character  of  the  other,  it  becomes  more  clearly 
jvident  that  the  two  occupy  opposite  poles  in  the 
intellectual  world,  and  can  never  receive  any  real  aid 
from  one  another.  The  theory  which  finds  the  Sov- 
ereign Good  of  man  in  a  pleasant  state  of  his  sensi- 
bility, cannot  recognize  any  life  in  man  transcending 
his  sensible  experience,  and  is  obliged,  therefore,  to 
deny  the  possibility  of  any  such  communion  with  an 
Infinite  Spirit  as  must  be  admitted  in  order  to  form 
a  basis  for  Theology. 

It  is  natural,  therefore,  to  find  the  clearest  F.picu- 
rean  thinkers  commonly  occupying  an  attitude,  if  not 
of  negation,  at  least  of  suspended  judgment,  —  Scep- 
ticism or  Agnosticism,  —  in  relation  to  all  questions 
which  issue  beyond  the  sphere  of  sensible  experi- 
ence. Now,  within  this  sphere, — from  the  stand- 
point of  pure  Empiricism,  —  there  can  be  no  pretence 
that  happiness  and  virtue  always  coincide  ;  and  we 
are  therefore  led  to  inquire  whether  there  is  any 
other  explanation  by  which  the  claims  of  an  altruistic 
moralicy  can  be  reconciled  with  the  fundamental 
principle  of  I^picurcan   Ethics. 

3.  Such  an  explanation  is  suggested  in  a  plea 
which  runs  in  the  line  of  recent  Evolutionism.  It 
is  admitted  that,  owing  to  the  imperfect  adjustments 
between  the  individual  and  his  environment,  social 
and  individual  happiness  do  not  always  harmonize  ; 
but  it  is  maintained  that  the  tendency  of  evolution 
is  to    perfect    this   adjustment,   and  that,   when   the 


H'l 

njm! 

■  ,    i 

1 

ii' 

! 

■il 


192 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    ETHICS. 


m 


iM 


adjustment  is  perfect,  all  the  selfish  instincts,  from 
which  men  derive  their  unsocial  pleasures  at  present, 
will  be  eliminated,  and  the  unselfish  instincts  will 
be  so  developed  that  men  will  find  their  greatest 
pleasure  in  promoting  the  happiness  of  others.  A 
certain  lofty  aspect  even  is  given  to  this  view  by 
connecting  the  alleged  tendency  of  evolution  with 
the  end  of  the  Supreme  Power  in  the  universe. 
"If,"  says  Mr.  Spencer,  "for  the  divine  will,  sup- 
posed to  be  supernaturally  revealed,  we  substitute 
the  naturally  revealed  end  towards  which  the  Power 
manifested  throughout  P^ volution  works  ;  then,  since 
Evolution  has  been,  and  is  still,  working  towards 
the  highest  life,  it  follows  that  conforming  to  those 
principles  by  which  the  highest  life  is  achieved  is 
furthering  that  end."^  It  is  not  necessary  to  dis- 
cuss this  suggestion  in  all  its  aspects  ;  for  us  it 
leaves  the  conflict  of  liigoism  and  Altruism  precisely 
where  it  was.  There  may  be  scientific  ground  in 
experience  for  believing  that,  'f  our  planet  continues 
long  enough  to  provide  the  physical  conditions  of 
human  existence,  the  social  instincts  of  men  will 
attain  the  expected  development  ;  but  unless  the 
slow  process  of  evolution  is  supplanted  by  an  incon- 
ceivable revolution,  all  the  generations  of  men  with 
whom  we  are  concerned  must  frame  their  moral  life 
on  the  understanding  that  social  well-being  can  be 
promoted  only  at  the  cost  of  mucli  individual  sacri- 
fice. Self-sacrificing  virtue  is  not  rendered  any  more 
reasonable  to  an  I'^picurean  of  the  present  day  by 
the    probability  or  certainty  that,   in    some    remote 

1  Dahi  of  El/i'us,  p.  171. 


from 

cscnt, 

s  will 

catcst 

■s.     A 

cw  by 

1  with 

ivcrsc. 

1,   sup- 

iStitutc 
Power 

1,  since 

owards 

0  those 

eved  is 
to  dis- 

r   us   it 

recisely 
und   in 
ntinues 
ions  of 
en   will 
:ss    the 
incon- 
cn  with 
ral  life 
can  be 
al  sacri- 
liy  more 
day  by 
remote 


KPICUKKAX     THKORIKS. 


^93 


future,  men,  beini^  more  perfectly  adjusted  to  their 
social  environment,  will  practise  the  same  virtue 
without  the  pain  of  sacrifice.  Nor  is  the  difficulty 
of  Utilitarianism  removed  by  pointing  to  a  Power 
of  which  I  can  know  merely  that  it  is  Something 
which  is  manifested  in  the  processes  of  evolution, 
and  that  It  is  evolving  the  larger  social  instincts  of 
tlie  humanity  of  the  future.  The  thought  of  this 
Internal  Power  would  indeed  be  recognized  as  in- 
volving  an  infinite  obligation  to  co-operate  with  His 
purposes  if  I  w^ere  allowed  to  retain  the  old  faith 
which  conceives  Him  as  a  Supreme  Intelligence 
realizing  eternallv  in  Himself  the  righteousness 
which  He  requires  me  to  realize  in  myself,  —  the 
old  faith  that  such  a  realization  of  the  divine  right- 
eousness is  the  only  reasonable  life,  the  only  life 
which  will  secure  my  true  good  as  a  reasonable 
being.  But  when  for  a  Spirit  of  perfect  intelligence 
and  righteousness  there  is  substituted  an  Unknow- 
able Something  which  works  out  Its  results  without 
plan,  —  without  intelligent  or  loving  regard  for  any 
human  being, — then,  if  pleasure  is  the  only  reason- 
able object  for  which  I  can  live,  it  is  surely  reasonable 
for  me  to  enjoy  as  much  pleasure  as  I  can  gather 
to  myself  in  life  without  regard  for  such  an  Unknow- 
able Something  or  for  any  results  It  may  bring 
about  in  a  far-off  future  with  which  certainly  I  can 
have  no  real  concern. 

It  appears  therefore  that  none  of  the  three  expla- 
nations which  have  been  discussed  —  psychological, 
theological,  or  evolutional  —  affords  any  rational  vin- 
dication  of   social   morality   on    Epicurean   grounds. 


'  , 


^ 


5PI* 


194 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


:  f 


',1 


Consequently  it  is  not  surprising  that  some  of  the 
most  eminent  expositors  of  Utilitarianism,  yielding 
to  the  irresistible  force  of  the  facts  of  moral  life, 
admit  unreservedly  the  impossibility  of  reconciling 
the  obligations  of  virtue  with  ihe  theory  that  pleas- 
ure or  happiness  is  the  Chief  End  of  existence  for 
every  man.  Once  more  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  may 
be  taken  as  the  mouth-piece  of  a  fearlessly  honest 
Utilitarianism  "I  see  no  use,"  he  says,  "in  shutting 
or  trying  to  shut  our  eyes  to  so  plain  a  truth.  As 
regards  the  world  with  which  alone  scientific  reason- 
ing can  have  any  concern,  it  is  a  simple  statement 
of  undeniable  facts,  or  of  facts  which  can  only  be 
denied  in  some  potential  sense,  that  is  to  say,  not 
really  denied  at  all.  ,  .  .  The  attempt  to  establish 
an  absolute  coincidence  between  virtue  and  hap- 
piness is  in  ethics  what  the  attempting  to  square 
the  circle  or  to  discover  perpetual  motion  are  in 
geometry  and  mechanics.  I  think  it  better  frankly 
to  abandon  the  hopeless  endeavor."  ^ 

It  may  be  taken,  then,  as  generally  admitted,  that 
there  is  an  inevitable  conflict  between  the  claims  of 
virtue  and  those  of  happiness  upon  the  individual ; 
and  the  form  in  which  this  admission  is  put  by  Mr. 
Stephen,  as  well  as  by  others,  forces  upon  us  the 
question,  whether  we  should  rest  in  the  simple  fact 
of  the  conflict,  and  treat   the  reconciliation  of  the 

1  T/w  Science  of  Ethics,  p.  430.  With  this  may  be  compared  equally 
explicit  statements  by  Professor  Bain  in  Mind  (Vol.  i.  pp.  1S6  and  194-196). 
These  statements  occur  in  a  review  of  Professor  Sidgwick's  Methods  of 
Ethics:  and  this  work,  especially  in  Book  II.  chapter  v.  (with  which  compare 
Book  IV.  chapter  vi.),  must  be  regarded  as  an  unanswerable  exposure  of  the 
futility  of  any  attempt  to  establish  a  complete  coincidence  between  virtue 
and  happiness. 


that 
inis  of 
ndui\\ ; 

y  Mr. 
us  the 

c  fact 
of   the 

1  cciually 
194-196). 
(koih  of 
\  compare 
ire  of  the 
;cn  virtue 


EPICUREAN    THEORIES. 


105 


conflicting  claims  as  an  insoluble  problem.  Now, 
a  problem  may  be  dismissed  in  this  way  for  either 
of  two  reasons.  It  may  be  declared  to  be  merely 
incapable  of  solution  from  the  data  with  which  we 
are  allowed  to  start ;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may 
be  shown  to  be  logically  contradictory  of  these  data. 
It  is  obviously  in  the  former  case  alone,  that  a  prob- 
lem can  with  any  propriety  be  spoken  of  as  insoluble  ; 
it  then  remains  what  in  philosophical  language  is 
styled  a  problematic  proposition,  that  is,  a  propo- 
sition the  truth  or  falsity  of  which  we  are  not  in 
a  position  to  decide.  But  a  wholly  different  char- 
acter must  be  assigned  to  those  propositions  which, 
in  their  very  terms,  involve  either  a  self-contradiction 
or  a  contradiction  with  the  fundamental  principles 
of  science.  The  equation,  2  -f-  2  =  5,  is  not  a  prob- 
lematic proposition  ;  nor  should  we  call  it  an  insolu- 
ble problem  to  find  two  straight  lines  which  enclose 
a  space,  or  to  find  a  triangle  whose  interior  angles 
are  equal  to  three  right  angles.^  Now,  what  is 
treated  by  Mr.  Stephen  as  an  insoluble  problem 
in  Ethics  is  not  of  the  nature  of  a  problematic 
proposition  ;  it  is  a  proposition  to  predicate  of  the 
same  subject  concepts  which  are  contradictory  of 
each  other.  If  for  every  man  the  Highest  Good  is 
happiness,  then  it  is  simply  a  contradiction  to  assert 
that  the  Highest  Good  for  any  man,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, can  be  to  sacrifice  his  happiness  for 
some  higher  good. 

1  As  I  do  not  wish  to  add  to  Professor  ^e  Morgan's  Budget  of  Paradoxes, 
I  have  avoided  tlie  illustrations  adduced  by  Mr.  Steplieu  from  (jconietry  and 
Mechanics ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  tlie  two  so-called  problems  ought  not  to 
be  grouped  together  as  either  cijually  rational  or  equally  irrational. 


,-|!i 

t'      ^     ■ 

ii 

*!! 


;■  ill 


-A 


'  I'i 


196 


AN    IN'I'KonUCTlON   TO   KTIIICS. 


'     H 


IM: 


I     tl 


So  far,  therefore,  as  the  social  virtues  arc  con- 
cerned. Utilitarianism  has  failed  to  explain  the  code 
of  morality  reco<,nized  in  the  highest  civilization  of 
the  world. 

II.  J^ut  a  similar  line  of  reasoning  forces  upon 
us  the  same  conclusion  In  reference  to  the  private 
vii'tncs  of  human  life.  These  virtues  do  not  imply 
any  necessary  reference  to  others,  —  any  reference 
beyond  the  virtuous  man  himself.  They  consist, 
therefore,  in  the  reasonable  regulation  of  his  natural 
impulses.  But  there  are  various  indulgences  of  the 
natural  sensibility,  which  have  been  proscribed  in 
every  elevated  moral  code,  which  yet  are  intrinsi- 
cally pleasant,  while  they  are  not  of  necessity  fol- 
lowed by  any  painful  results.  It  is  true  that  the 
self-denial  which  virtue  requiies  in  reference  to 
such  indulgences,  though  painful  in  itself,  is  to 
some  extent  compensated  by  the  self-com})lacency 
which  accompanies  a  pure  conscience,  while  an 
indulgence  which  violated  the  purity  of  conscience 
would  have  to  bear  the  penalty  of  remorse.  Init  do 
these  facts  offer  a  sufficient  ground  for  the  virtues 
of  personal  purity  } 

In  the  first  place,  with  regard  to  the  pleasures  of 
a  good  conscience,  it  must  be  remembered  that  the 
self-complacency  of  the  virtuous  man  is  a  vanishing 
quantity  in  Utilitarian  calculations.  With  the  ad- 
vancing perfection  of  virtue  there  is  ever  less  and 
less  of  complacent  reflection  by  the  agent  on  his 
own  goodness.  On  Utilitarian  principles,  however, 
it  would  seem  indispensable  for  the  moral  hero  to 
eradicate   the   modesty  which   usually  gives    to    his 


EPICUKKAN    THKORIKS. 


»-es  of 
Lt  the 
ishing 
le   ad- 
and 
in  his 
^cver, 
[ro  to 
his 


197 


virtue  one  of  its  finest  traits,  and  to  intensify  to 
the  highest  possil)le  pitch  tiie  deh'ghtful  estimate 
of  his  conduct.  Then  it  must  be  remembered  fur- 
ther that  the  pleasure  of  a  good  conscience,  hke 
any  other  agreeal)le  emotion,  is  a  pleasure  merely 
to  those  who  can  feel  it,  and  that  for  many  men, 
who  are  grossly  sensual  or  weakly  self-indulgent, 
any  appeal  to  the  pleasures  of  self-denial  would 
simply  have  the  effect  of  an  ironical  joke.  Nor 
is  there  any  conceivable  process  of  reason,  by  which 
it  could  be  made  evident  that  the  pure  conscience 
derives  a  greater  quantity  of  pleasure  from  self- 
denial  than  the  sensualist  from  sclT  iiidulgcncc. 

The  same  view  is  forced  upon  us  when  we  look 
at  the  problem  frorii  its  reverse  side.  The  pains 
of  remorse  are  not  always  evidently  greater  than 
those  of  virtuous  self-sacrifice.  They  may  be  so 
generally  for  the  man  of  fine  moral  culture ;  but 
are  they  so  for  one  of  brutal  sensuality,  of  hard 
insensibility,  or  of  ferocious  cruelty  }  On  what 
Utilitarianian  ground,  then,  could  you  rec[uire  such 
an  one  to  cultivate  moral  refinement .'  You  cannot 
prove  to  him  that  such  refinement  would  yield  him 
a  greater  quantity  of  pleasure  than  he  finds  in  a  life 
of  voluptuous  license,  while  you  woul'l  be  forced  to 
ci'lmit  that  the  more  refined  sensibi.  ._)  would  expose 
him  to  many  forms  of  suffering  with  which  he  was 
unacquainted  before.  In  fact,  you  might  be  called 
to  meet,  with  arguments  which  it  would  be  difficult 
to  invent,  the  retort  that,  if  pleasur:  is  the  only 
object  that  gives  value  to  life,  it  would  be  wiser  for 
the  refined  moral  nature  to  get  rid  of  a  sensitive 
conscience  altogether. 


i  I 


ii 


*  i 


!M 


m 


IM 


198 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


m' 


m 


!  >'■ 
I  (I 
.1. 


A  further  fact  is  also  worthy  oi  bcin^,^  remembered 
in  this  connection  ;  and  that  is,  that  the  pleasures 
and  pains  of  human  life,  being  excited  by  natural 
agencies,  are  not  by  any  means  uniformly  dep'mdent, 
cither  for  their  existence  or  their  proportion,  on  the 
moral  deserts  of  men.  From  purely  natural  causes, 
that  is,  from  causes  which  are  entirely  beyond  an 
individual's  control,  such  as  an  unavoidable  con- 
dition of  the  bodily  organism,  the  purest  virtue 
may  be  tested  every  day  by  the  pangs  of  a  per- 
sistent disease,  while  a  cool,  calculating  immorality 
may  enjoy  the  accompaniment  of  a  healthy  and 
cheerful  disposition.  Facts  of  this  nature  had  evi- 
dently struck  David  Hume  as  forming  one  of  the 
most  plausible  vindications  of  the  sceptical  temper 
of  mind,  and  receive  special  prominence  therefore 
in  his  essay  on  "The  Sceptic."  **  It  is  observable," 
he  says  among  other  remarks,  "  that  though  every 
bodily  pain  proceeds  from  some  disorder  in  the  part 
or  organ,  yet  the  pain  is  not  always  proportioned  to 
the  disorder,  but  is  greater  or  less  according  to  the 
greater  or  less  sensibility  of  the  part  upon  which 
the  noxious  humors  exei  c  their  influence.  A  /cW//- 
ac/ic  produces  more  violent  convulsions  of  pain  than 
?i pJitJiisis  or  a  dropsy.  In  like  manner,  with  regard 
to  the  economy  of  the  mind,  we  may  observe,  that 
all  vice  is  indeed  pernicious  ;  yet  the  disLurbance 
or  pain  is  not  measured  out  by  nature  with  exact 
proportion  to  the  degrees  of  vice ;  nor  is  the  man 
of  highest  virtue,  even  abstracting  from  external 
accidents,  always  the  most  happy.  A  gloomy  or 
melancholy  disposition  is  cctainly,  to  our  soithncuts, 


Kl'ICURKAN   TIIICORIKS. 


199 


a  vice  or  impcrfcrtion  ;  but  as  it  may  be  accompanied 
with  <;reat  sense  of  honor  and  great  integrity,  it  may 
be  found  in  very  worthy  characters,  though  it  is  suf- 
ficient alone  to  embitter  bfe,  and  render  the  person 
affected  with  it  completely  miserable.  On  the  other 
hand,  a  selfish  villain  may  possess  a  spring  and  alac- 
rity of  temper,  a  certain  j^trju-tj'  of  Iicart,  which  is 
indeed  a  good  quality,  but  which  is  rewarded  much 
beyond  its  merit,  and,  when  attended  with  good 
fortune,  will  compensate  for  the  uneasiness  and 
remorse  arising   from   all   the   other  vices." 

(/>')  It  appears,  then,  that,  so  far  as  the  individual 
is  concerned,  the  attempt  to  establish  the  obligations 
of  morality  on  purely  Utilitarian  grounds  has  com- 
pletely failed  ;  for  these  obligations,  as  they  have 
been  developed  among  the  highest  races  of  the 
world,  do  not  imply  any  uniform  coincidence  between 
individual  virtue  and  individual  happiness.  But 
there  remains  a  region  of  morality  in  which  perhaps 
Utilitarianism  may  still  make  a  stand.  It  may  be 
said,  that,  although  virtue  and  happiness  do  not  coin- 
cide in  every  individual  case,  yet  they  do  so  on  the 
average,  and  therefore  communities  are  sure  of  the 
highest  prosperity  if  they  always  observe  the  obliga- 
tions of  morality  in  their  transactions  with  other 
communities. 

Here  the  question  at  issue  must  be  clearly  defined. 
As  already  observed,  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  a 
community,  composed  of  self-sacrificing  members, 
will  stand  a  good  chance  in  any  struggle  with  a  com- 
munity in  which  there  are  few  individuals  disposed 
to  sacrifice  themselves  for  the  common  jrood.     This 


I. 


1  ii 


I ' 


t ,  i 


11^ 


Ifh 


I't 


( 


.1. 


Mi 


m- 


200 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    KTIIICS. 


fact,  however,  concerns  merely  the  moral  relations 
in  which  the  members  of  one  community  stand  to 
each  other.  Ikit  the  question  now  befoie  us  deals 
with  tnc  moral  relations  in  which  one  community  as 
a  ^  stands  to  other  communities.  In  the  evolu- 
tion of  morality,  as  we  have  seen,^  there  is  a  sta^e 
at  which  patriotism  forms  the  highest  ideal  of  the 
moral  consciousness.  At  such  a  stage  there  may  be 
a  perfectly  heroic  devotion  to  this  restricted  ideal, 
combined  with  a  startling  unconsciousness  of  any 
obligations  that  take  a  wider  range.  Now,  if  a 
nation  at  this  staire  of  moral  culture  come  into  con- 
flict  with  another  which  has  burst  the  barriers  nf 
m.oral  nationalism,  and  risen  to  the  larger  conception 
of  an  humanitarian  morality,  is  there  any  ground  for 
believing  that  the  latter,  by  a  generous  fulfilment  of 
its  international  obligations,  will  be  certain  of  sur- 
viving in  the  struggle  with  its  less  scrupulous 
neighbor  ? 

Its  ideas,  its  spirit,  may  survive.  For  it  is  the 
reason  of  things  that  forms  their  eternal  reality,  and 
therefore  truth  and  right  are  irresistible  in  the  long- 
run.  But  the  nation  may  itself  go  down  in  the 
struggle  for  the  higher  morality  which  it  represented. 
It  would  seem  in  fact  as  if,  in  the  process  of  history, 
material  defeat  were  often  a  necessary  step  to  spirit- 
ual conquest.  "  Except  a  corn  of  wheat  fall  into  the 
ground  and  die,  it  abideth  alone  ;  but  if  it  die,  it 
bringeth  forth  much  fruit."  This  is  often  obviously 
true  of  the  individual  martyr :  the  truth,  to  which  he 
has   borne  witness,   may  require  to  free   itself  from 

1  Above,  p.  So. 


El'ICUKKAX   TIIi:()Rli:S. 


201 


the 
•,  and 
long- 

the 

;ntC(l. 

story, 

pirit- 

o  the 

ic,  it 

ously 

ch  he 

from 


indivicUuil  limitatiojis  lu-foro  it  run  wickl  its  full 
power.  lUit  a  <;rcat  princi[)le  of  hunianity  may  be 
less  clearly  re[)rcscntc(l  in  t!ie  many-colored  life  of  a 
nation  than  in  the  more  uniform  life  <»f  a  select  imli- 
vidual  ;  and  consecjuently  the  operation  of  such  a 
princii)le  may  he  obscured  and  fettered  by  associa- 
tion with  the  temporary  aims  of  national  activity. 
The  loss  of  national  independence  seems  therefore 
at  times  to  have  i;iven  a  freer  ran;:;e  to  the  spirituid 
influences  of  which  the  fallen  nation  has  been  the 
vehicle  in  the  history  of  the  world. 

Owin;4  to  the  incalculable  complexity  of  the  causes 
at  work  in  the  lar<j;er  movements  of  societies,  it  miL;ht 
be  difficult  to  prove  that  any  nation  conquered  by 
another,  represented  on  the  whole  a  higher  type  of 
morality  than  its  conqueror,  But  certainly  in  the 
history  of  international  conflicts  there  are  numerous 
instances  in  which  success  in  diplomacy  or  in  war 
has  been  achieved  by  a  monstrous  outraf:je  upon  jus- 
tice or  by  trickery  of  contemptible  meanness  ;  and 
the  growth  ot  all  the  great  empires  of  the  world 
affords  evidence  of  the  triumph  that  often  attends  a 
violation  of  international  rights.^ 

Ihit  even  if  it  couKl  be  proved  that  national  pros- 
perity is  uniformly  concomitant  upon  the  fulfilment 
of  national  obligations  to  other  nationalities,  it  nnist 
be  borne  in  mind  that  the  problem  with  which  we 
are  occupied  concerns  primarily  and  strictly  the  moral 

1  It  is  an  interostins  f^ct,  that  even  in  tlie  ancient  world  Karneades,  the 
Academic,  when  lecturing  in  Rome,  defended  his  ethical  sceptici-^ni  by  point- 
ing out  that  the  Romans  themselves  had  advanced  their  empire  in  utter  dis- 
regard of  justice  to  other  peoples.  Sec  Zcller's  Stoics,  Epicureans,  and 
Sceptics,  jij).  520,  521. 


I 

<  i 

ill 

I.       i 


m 


202 


AN'    IXTRODlTf'TKtX  TO   KI'FrirS. 


f' 


'J;i 


i'    ■: 

M      '.'• 

life  of  llu;  individual.  It  is  to  the  consticncc  of  the 
in(livi(hi:d  that  the  moral  law  appeals  :  even  when 
the  obi  illations  of  a  eoniiiuiinty  are  referred  to,  the 
appeal  must  always  be  to  the  eonsciences 


of  th 


e  mdi- 


viduals  of  whom  the  community  is  composed.  If  the 
Utilitarian  liypothesis  accords  with  the  facts  of  the 
moral  life,  it  must  be  able  to  convince  the  individ- 
ual that  his  happiness  coincides  with  the  highest 
morality  on  his  part. 


JUit  it  has  been  sufficiently  shown  that  this  is  i 


m- 


possible,  and  therefore  there  are  but  two  alternatives 
which  can  be  rcLJ^arded  as  reasonable.  JCither,  hold- 
ing; to  the  Utilitarian  hypothesis,  we  must  al)andon 
the  claims  of  any  morality  that  re(|uires  a  real  sacri- 
fice of  happiness  from  any  man  ;  or,  maintainini;"  the 
claims  of  an  altruistic  and  spiritual  morality,  we 
must  abandon  the  Utilitarian  hyjiothesis. 

The  former  alternative  has  been  distinctly  rcc- 
oirnizcd  as  a  loirical  issue  of  Utilitarian  I-lthics  from 
a  very  early  period.  Amon<;"  the  ancient  Greeks  it 
was  a  common  adjunct  of  Iletlonism,  that  the  moral 
law,  in  so  far  as  it  makes  any  demands  upon  men 
beyond  those  of  personal  enjoyment,  has  its  founda- 
tion, not  in  nature, — not  h'  (ft'mt,  —  but  merely 
iv  vouo)  yui  I'On,  in  the  institutions  and  customs  of 
society.  This  has  been  the  position  very  commonly 
assumed  by  absolute  scepticism  in  all  ages  ;  for  even 
the  sceptic  in  theory  must  have  in  practice  a  work- 
ing rule  for  the  guidance  of  his  conduct,  and  he  com- 
monly takes  as  his  most  reasonable  guide  the  laws 
and  usages  of  the  society  in  which  he  lives.  This 
position    has    been   most   clearly   formulated   in  the 


ra'ICURKAX   TIIKOKIKS. 


203 


rcc- 
rom 
<s  it 
I  oral 
men 
mda- 
Tcly 
IS  of 
101 


philosophy  of  IIol)hos,  who,  as  wo  have  seen,  held 
that  the  only  moral  law  —  the  only  law  to  re^nlate 
the  individual  demand  for  [personal  gratification  — 
is  the  law  formulated  by  civic  authority.  The  man 
who  dreams  of  a  hi,:;her  law  entitled  to  override  the 
authority  of  civic  leiijislation,  is,  on  this  theory,  a 
mere  fanatic  ;  and  the  man  who  voluntarily  foregoes 
a  pleasure,  except  to  avoid  some  disaf;reeal)le  conse- 
quences of  natural  or  social  law,  is  simply  a  fool  for 
his  pains. 

Jiut  the  Ilobbist  is  mistaken  in  supjiosiuL;"  that 
ICthical  Scepticism  can  stop  at  this  point.  Without 
a  moral  law  on  which  to  rest  the  authority  of  civic 
k\L;islation,  the  ri_L;ht  of  the  State  becomes  in  reality 
nothinjjj  but  its  might  ;  that  is  to  say,  its  authority 
is  founded  on  no  moral  obli^^ation,  since  no  such 
obli<;ation  has  any  existence  in  reality.  It  remains, 
therefore,  always  reasonable  for  the  individual  to 
opi)ose,  if  he  can,  a  stronger  force  to  resist,  or  a 
more  astute  intelligence  to  evade\  the  power  of  the 
State.  Consequently,  Moral  Scepticism,  that  is,  scep- 
ticism with  regard  to  the  independent  authority  of  the 
moral  law  as  the  basis  even  of  civic  obligations,  inev- 
itably lands  in  the  annihilation  of  these  obligations 
themselves,  in  Political  Nihilism  or  Anarchism. 

The  only  reasonable  alternative,  therefore,  is  that 
which  accepts  the  facts  of  social  and  private  morality 
in  their  full  significance,  vindicates  the  authority  of 
moral  obligations  as  a  reality  independent  of  natural 
impulse  or  of  legal  compulsion,  and  therefore  rejects 
the  Utilitarian  hypothesis  which  is  acknowledged  to 
be  irreconcilable  with   the   facts  of  the  moral   life. 


fi* 


•  ii' 


*•        I 


■/■^ 


204 


AN    INTRODUCTION    TO  ETHICS. 


P  I 


•  .1 


For,  in  concluding  our  discussion,  it  is  well  to  recall 
the  fact,  that  Utilitarians  themselves  acknowledge  an 
altruistic  and  spiritual  morality  to  be  indefensible  on 
purely  Utilitarian  grounds.  It  is  surely,  for  the  sci- 
entific thinker,  a  strange  course,  which  honestly  ac- 
knowledges this  irreconcilable  conflict  of  theory  with 
fact,  and  yet  clings  to  the  theory.  l^\^r  the  difficul- 
ties which  we  have  seen  Utilitarian  thinkers  recog- 
nizing—  all  their  alleged  "insoluble  problems"  — 
have  their  origin  in  the  hypothesis  that  pleasure  is 
the  only  object  for  which  it  is  reasonable  to  live. 
Drop  that  hypothesis,  admit  a  higher  object  for 
human  life,  and  a  morality  involving  genuine  self- 
sacrifice  becomes  no  longer  unreasonable. 

That  this  is  the  true  way  out  of  the  "insoluble 
problems"  of  Utilitarianism,  is  incidentally  indicated 
by  Utilitarian  writers  themselves.  In  an  article 
referred  to  above.  Professor  Bain,  after  dwelling  on 
the  conflict  between  Egoism  and  Altruism,  observes : 
**  To  seek  our  own  interest  is  one  thing ;  to  re- 
nounce our  own  interest  for  another  man's,  is  quite 
a  different  thing ;  the  second  cannot,  by  any  con- 
ceivable device,  be  forced  under  the  first.  That  '  I 
am  to  be  miserable,'  cannot  be  an  inference  from  *  I  am 
to  be  happy.'  There  must  clearly  be  tiuo  things 
postulated  as  the  foundations  of  human  duty,  each  for 
itself  and  on  its  own  merits.  It  is  right,  reasonable, 
for  each  one  to  seek  their  own  happiness  ;  it  is  right, 
reasonable,  for  each  one  to  give  up,  if  need  be,  their 
own  happiness  for  the  sake  of  the  happiness  of  some 
other  persons."  ^     There  could  not  easily  be  found  a 

1  Mind,  Vol.  I.  p.  195. 


KI'ICUREAN  THEORIES. 


205 


more  pronounced  assertion  of  the  doctrine,  that  the 
supreme  standard  of  rii;-htness  in  human  conduct  is 
not,  for  any  man,  merely  his  own  happiness,  or  even 
merely  the  happiness  of  others,  but  that  it  must  be 
some  higher  and  l:ir[;-er  object  which  commends  itself 
to  the  reason  as  comprehending  both  of  these  limited 
objects.  But  statements  equally  explicit  to  the  same 
effect  may  be  cited  from  the  writings  of  other  prom- 
inent Utilitarians.  "By  acting  rightly,"  says  Mr. 
Leslie  Stephen,  "  I  admit,  even  the  virtuous  man  will 
sometimes  be  making  a  sacrifice  ;  and  1  do  not  deny 
it  to  be  a  real  sacrifice  :  I  only  deny  that  such  a 
statement  will  be  conclusive  for  the  virtuous  man. 
His  ozvii  Jiappijicss  is  not  his  sole  ultimate  aii/i,  antl 
the  clearest  proof  that  a  given  action  will  not  con- 
tribute to  it  will,  therefore,  not  deter  him  from  the 
action."  ^  And,  in  a  similar  strain,  in  a  passage 
quoted  above,  Mr.  Mill  ascribes  all  honor  to  the  hero 
or  the  martyr  by  whom  happiness  is  voluntarily  re- 
nounced "for  the  sake  of  something  which  he  prizes 
more  than  his  individual  happiness."  The  way  is 
thus  opened  by  Utilitarians  themselves  for  those 
theories  of  morality  which  deny  that  pleasure  is  the 
ultimate  end  of  existence  for  any  man. 

1  The  Science  of  Ethics,  p.  431. 


III! 


206 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


m 

i 

m 


if 


l^'i 


n 


CHAPTER   II. 


STOICAL    THEORIES. 


The  second  main  direction  of  ethical  speculation 
finds  the  goodness  of  an  action  in  its  reasonableness, 
rather  than  in  its  pleasantness.  In  other  words,  the 
Stoical  theories  of  morality  may  be  characterized  neg- 
atively by  the  fact,  that  they  deny  the  fundamental 
doctrine  of  Epicureanism,  which  makes  pleasure  the 
Sovereign  Good  of  human  life ;  while  they  may  bi; 
characterized  positively  by  the  fact,  that  they  find  the 
Sovereign  Good  in  an  object  of  reason  rather  than  in 
an  excitement  of  sensibility.  Of  course  Epicureanism 
itself  can  defend  its  fundamental  doctrine  only  by 
showing  that  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  is  absolutely 
reasonable,  or,  in  other  words,  by  proving  that  pleas- 
ure or  happiness  is  the  only  object  that  is  absolutely 
satisfactory  to  a  reasonable  being.  The  full  signifi- 
cance of  this  fact  will  appear  more  clearly  in  the 
sequel. 

Stoical  theories  appear  to  show  a  more  radical 
diversity  than  the  Epicurean  ;  but  this  greater  diver- 
sity is  rather  apparent  than  real.  Epicureans  must 
of  necessity  give  prominence  to  t\u  doctrine,  that 
pleasure,  however  differently  concei^/ed,  is  the  ulti- 
mate object  of  all  human  desire  ;  and  therefore  their 
various  theories  acquire  an  appearance  of  uniformity 


STOICAL   TIIKOUIKS. 


207 


)lutcl)r 
plcas- 
^lutely 
iignifi- 
in  the 

[adical 
Idiv'cr- 
nnist 
,  that 
iilti- 
thcir 
frmity 


which  is  not  so  commonly  given  to  the  different 
forms  of  Stoicism.  I^^)r  a  Stoical  writer  naturally 
gives  prominence  to  the  particular  object  which  by 
its  distinctive  character  is  conceived  as  constitutincr 
the  Supreme  Good  of  man  ;  and  consequently  his 
exposition  is  apt  to  put  into  the  background  the 
fact,  which  is  common  to  all  Stoical  theories,  that 
the  object  which  is  represented  as  forming  the 
Supreme  Good   is  a  concept  of  reason. 

The  various  forms  of  Stoicism,  then,  diverge  from 
one  another  in  their  definition  of  the  object  which  is 
adapted  to  satisfy  the  practical  reason  of  man,  and 
therefore  to  form  the  supreme  end  or  law  for  the 
L-'overnment  of  his  conduct.  Some  indeed  of  those 
theories,  which  are  generally  opposed  to  Epicurean- 
ism, and  which  in  their  psychological  aspect  arc 
descri"bed  as  intuitional,  appear  to  regard  the  moral 
quality  of  an  action  as  something  indefinable.  For 
example,  this  seems  to  be  sometimes  implied  in  the 
language  of  those  philosophers  who  were  referred 
to  in  the  previous  Book  as  holding  the  theory  of  a 
Moral  Sense. 1  According  to  that  language  it  might 
appear  as  if  moral  ideas  were  to  be  put  psychologi- 
cally on  a  level  with  the  simple  ideas  which  are 
received  through  the  bodily  senses,  in  so  far  as 
tliey  can  be  known  only  by  being  felt.  From  this 
analogy  it  might  be  argued  that  it  is  as  useless  to 
attempt  a  definition  of  the  moral  quality  of  actions 
as  of  any  sensible  quality  of  bodies,  except  by  refer- 
ring to  the  feelings  which  it  excite  Still,  even  the 
analogy  between  moral  sentiment  and  bodily  sensa- 


1  See  above, 


p.  59. 


',/ 


!l!^ 


(i; 


M 


•i1 


208 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO   I-'/rillCS. 


T'f 


*1 


1-  I 


[:>    5 


)| 


tion  (loos  not  cxclade  all  explanation  of  the  moral 
(|uality  of  actions.  For,  as  the  scientific  explanation 
of  our  sensations  requires  that  we  should  trace  them 
lo  the  physical  conditions  with  which  they  are  con- 


•-..♦.  I 


iicctcd  hy  natural  law,  so  it  is  a  pertectly  proper 
scientific  inquiry  which  seeks  to  find  out  what  is 
tlie  (piality  of  action  by  which  the  moral  sense  is 
excited.  Accordingly  this  inc[uiry  has  always  been 
a  prominent  subject  of  speculation  among  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  theory  in  question.  Its  two  most 
eminent  exponents,  Shaftesbury  and  Hutcheson,  unite 
in  maintaining  that  the  benevolence  of  an  action  is 
the  property  which  makes  it  agreeable  to  the  moral 
sense ;  and  as  the  benevolence  of  an  action  means 
its  intentional  adaptation  to  promote  the  happiness 
of  those  interested,  it  is  obvious  that  the  psycho- 
logical theory  of  a  IMoral  Sense  passes  over  into 
the  ethical  theory  of  Utilitarianism. 

A  similar  remark  may  be  made  in  reference  to 
those  of  the  so-called  Intuitional  Moralists  who 
refer  moral  ideas  to  an  intellectual  rather  than  a 
sensitive  power,  —  an  intuition  of  reason  rather  than 
the  excitement  of  a  peculiar  form  of  sensibility. 
The  lan^-uage  of  this  school  miorht  at  times  seem  to 
imply  that  they  regarded  morality  as  a  concept  which 
does  not  admit  of  analysis,  and  that  they  held  that 
certain  actions  are  intuitively  conceived  by  us  to  be 
right  without  our  being  able  to  give  any  reason  for 
the  conception.  Language  t.tthis  effect  is  peculiarly 
explicit  in  the  writings  of  Price,  of  Reid,  and  of 
Stewart.  But  in  reality  the  only  moral  idea  which 
they  treat  as  indefinable,  is  that  of  obligation,  whereas 


STOICAL  TIIKr)RTES. 


209 


the  qualities,  on  the  ground  of  which  actions  are 
conceived  to  be  obligat^^ry,  are  ideas  like  justice, 
veracity,  benevolence,  prudence,  which  admit  of  per- 
fectly intelligible  analysis  and  explanation.  On  any 
other  theory  the  mor.d  life  wou'  1  be  divorced  from 
reason  altogether,  and  handed  over  to  the  domina- 
tion of  unintelliLTent  and  unintelliijible  instincts. 

It  is  a  serious  philosophical  defect  of  the  Intui- 
tionism  just  mentioned,  that  it  leaves  in  inexplieabk 
disconnection  the  different  moral  principles  which 
are  regarded  as  being  intuitively  known  to  be  right. 
Philosophy  is  })recisely  the  endeavor  to  bring  our 
knowledge  to  complete  unification  ;  and  while  it  must 
oppose  any  attempt  to  reach  this  end  by  hasty  gen- 
eralizations, it  cannot  rest  satisfied  with  a  recogni- 
tion of  principles  in  such  complete  •'".' 'ependence  as 
to  bar  the  way  against  their  being  brought  under 
some  superior  principle  comprehensive  of  them  all. 
Accordingly  most  of  the  great  moralists  of  a  Stoical 
tendency  have,  like  the  l^t-icureans,  sought  to  find 
out  the  common  property  by  which  all  right  actions 
are  characterized. 

We  have  therefore  now  to  notice  the  most  famous 
of  tnose  theories  which  have  sougb.t  the  rightness  of 
actions  in  some  other  property  than  their  power  of 
giving  pleasure. 

§  I.    Ancient  Stoicism. 

Naturally  of  course  we  are  taken  back  to  the 
ancient  school  from  which  Stoicism  derives  its  name. 
The  vStoical  tendency,  however,  had  a[)peared  long 
before  the  rise  of  the  Stoical  School.     Its  primitive 


( I 


\u 


I! 


210 


AN    INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


^J    i<i 


germ  is  perhaps  to  be  found  in  the  Socratic  doc- 
trine, that  virtue  is  a  kind  of  knowledge  ;  and  this, 
along  with  other  germs  of  Stoical  thought  in  the 
teaching  of  Socrates,  was  developed  in  the  peculiar 
morals  of  the  Cynical  School.  But  Cynicism,  though 
not  without  some  interesting  speculative  features, 
was  more  prominently  a  mode  of  life  than  a  system 
of  speculation,  and  is  in  history  distinguished  most 
strikingly  by  the  extravagance  with  which  it  carried 
into  practice  its  hostility  to  the  doctrine  which  finds 
in  pleasure  the  chief  good  of  man.  Hostility  to  this 
doctrine  first  assumed  the  shape  of  a  reasoned  system 
in  Zeno  of  Kittion  and  his  followers  ;  and  they  ob- 
tained the  name  of  Stoics  from  one  of  the  colonnades 
in  ancient  Athens,  the  Stoa  Poikile,  in  which  Zeno 
delivered  his  lectures.  Leaving  out  their  specula- 
tions on  other  subjects,  we  may  sum  up  their  ethical 
theory  in  a  few  salient  points.^ 

The  theory  of  the  Stoics  in  reference  to  the 
Sovereign  Good  was  intimately  connected  with  their 
conception  of  the  universe  as  a  whole.  According 
to  this  conception,  the  world  is  an  embodiment  of 
Perfect  Reason  in  the  minutest  details  of  its  consti- 
tution and  administration.  In  fact,  the  doctrine  of 
the  Providential  Government  of  the  World  was  en- 
forced by  the  ancient  Stoics  in  lines   of  argument 


1  In  regard  to  ancient  Stoicism  the  English  student  will  probably  derive 
most  satisfaction  in  the  volume  translated  from  Zellcr's  Philosopliy  of  tJie 
Greeks^  under  the  title  of  Tit"  Stoics,  Epicureans,  and  Sceptics.  But  he  may 
also  consult  with  great  advantage,  especially  for  the  practical  influence  of 
Stoicism,  Mr,  I.ecky's  brilliant  sketch  in  his  History  of  European  Morals, 
chapter  ii.  These  works  furnish  sufiicient  references  to  other  sources  of 
information,  both  primary  and  secondary. 


STOICAL   THEORIES. 


21  I 


derive 
()/  the 
he  may 
ence  of 
Morals, 
ices   of 


essentially  similar  to  those  adopted  in  the  doctrinal 
theology  of  our  own  day.  On  this  view  the  nature 
of  every  being  is  wisely  adapted  to  secure  its  highest 
good  ;  and  accordingly  man,  like  every  other  creature, 
can  find  his  Sovereign  Good  only  by  a  life  which 
is  in  harmony  with  the  requirements  of  his  nature. 
15ut  the  essential  nature  of  man  is  his  reason,  and 
consequently  the  chief  end  of  his  existence  must  be 
to  live  a  life  conformable  to  reason.  Such  a  life 
therefore  constitutes  supreme  excellence  or  virtue  in 
man.  It  may  be  described  with  equal  propriety  as  a 
life  according  to  reason,  or,  since  nature  is  a  creation 
of  reason,  as  a  life  according  to  nature  ;  and  the  mean- 
ing will  be  the  same,  whether  we  understand  nature 
in  general  or  the  particular  nature  of  man. 

The  virtuous  life  will  assuredly  bring  happiness  as 
its  natural  result.  But  it  is  not  the  happiness  of  vir- 
tue that  forms  our  highest  good  ;  on  the  contrary, 
virtue  in  itself  is  our  highest  good  because  it  is 
the  life  that  is  alone  natural  to  a  reasonable  being. 
Virtue  must  therefore  be  further  regarded  as  the 
sole  good  of  man.  There  are,  it  is  true,  other  things, 
such  as  health,  riches,  honor,  which  are  naturally 
preferable  to  their  opposites  ;  but  the  Stoic  would 
not  admit  them  to  the  dignity  of  being  any  essential 
factor  of  the  Good.  To  him  everything  but  virtue 
was  essentially  indifferent. 

The  natural  life  of  reason  is  perpetually  obstructed 
by  the  unnatural  excesses  of  passion.  Virtue  was 
therefore  by  the  Stoics  described  very  prominently 
on  its  negative  side  as  self-denial,  as  a  repression 
of  the  passions.     And,  consequently,  the  happiness 


•  li 


», 


'f! 


:^;  ! 


w 


2  I  2 


AN    INTRODUCTION    TO    KTHICS. 


m 


\  M' 


m 


wliich  virtue  brinirs  was  conceived  not  so  much  as  a 
positively  pleasura])le  excitement  of  sensibility,  but 
rather  as  a  deadening-  of  the  sensibility  —  an  apathy 
—  which  saves  us  from  exposure  to  the  painful 
disturbances  of  passion. 

One  noticeable  flaw  in  the  Stoical  theory  may  be 
found  in  its  use  of  the  very  indefinite  concept  of 
Nature  to  give  definitencss  to  the  concept  of  moral- 
ity. Without  discussing  the  various  meanings  in 
which  this  term  has  been,  and  may  be,  employed,  it 
may  be  said  that  its  most  prominent  meaning  in  con- 
nection with  the  Stoical  Theory  is  that  which  is 
often  implied  in  speaking  of  t/u-  essential  itat/nr  of 
anything  ;  and  that,  again,  is  understood  to  mean  the 
property  by  which  a  thing  is  diffeientiated  from 
everything  else.  In  man  the  differentiating  property 
or  essential  nature  is  made  to  be  his  reason  ;  and  ac- 
cordingly he  is  treated  as  if  his  Supreme  Good  could 
be  dissociated  from  all  other  properties  which,  though 
not  differentiating  him  from  other  natural  products, 
are  yet  integral  factors  of  his  nature.  Human  good- 
ness is  regarded  as  consisting  exclusively  in  the 
activity  of  reason  without  reference  to  the  passions 
which  arise  from  natural  sensibility.  If  virtue  is  con- 
ceived as  having  any  connection  with  the  passions,  it 
does  not  consist  in  controlling  these  so  as  to  restrict 
their  indulgence  within  reasonable  limits  ;  Stoical  vir- 
tue will  make  no  terms  with  the  passions  at  all ;  it 
demands  their  complete  repression. 

This  repression  was  sought,  not  merely  in  the  case 
of  those  passions  which  are  most  liable  to  excess,  and 
therefore  most  inimical  to  our  moral  welfare  :  it  was 


STOICAI.  TIIKOKIES. 


213 


ough 


case 
^  and 
It  was 


sought,  and  often  attained  to  a  marvellous  degree, 
even  in  regard  to  many  of  the  kindlier  emotions,  the 
culture  of  which  is  associated  with  much  that  is 
most  attractive  in  the  moral  life  of  men.  The  result 
of  this  was  certainly  far  from  beneficial  in  all  cases. 
While  it  is  impossible  to  ignore  many  features  that 
are  admirable,  not  only  in  the  ideal,  but  even  in  the 
actual  attainments,  of  the  Stoics,  it  must  also  be 
admitted  that  Stoicism  degenerated  at  times  into  a 
hard  insensibility  —  a  veritable  apathy  —  which  is 
incompatible  with  any  complete  standard  of  morality. 
For  it  is  obvious  that  a  large  part  of  social  morality 
is  based  on  a  kindly  regard  for  the  sensibility  of 
others.  But  the  Stoic,  sternly  refusing  to  come  to 
any  compromise  with  his  own  sensibility,  was  apt 
to  treat  the  sensibility  of  another  in  the  same  fash- 
ion ;  and  his  apathy,  which  in  relation  to  himself 
often  rose  into  a  severe  grandeur,  sometimes  in  its 
relation  to  others  sank  into  a  repulsive  harshness 
and  cruelty. 

But  this  disregard  of  man's  sensitive  nature  led  to 
a  further  injurious  result.  Virtue,  being  separated 
from  the  ineradicable  facts  of  man's  nature,  was  apt 
to  be  treated  as  an  unreal  abstraction,  an  impracti- 
cable ideal.  This  complete  abstraction  of  reason, 
however,  by  complete  elimination  of  feeling,  was 
evidently  incapable  of  concrete  realization  under  the 
existing  condition  of  human  nature  ;  and  consequently 
the  vast  majority,  almost  the  whole  of  mankind,  were 
regarded  as  incorrigibly  corrupt,  —  as  hopelessly 
abandoned  to  folly  and  vice.  Virtue  was  therefore, 
in  the  eye  of  the   Stoic,   a  rare  spiritual  privilege 


h 


!li 


h.  \ 


■;. 


I  i  < 


V  !li| 


Hi 


!f  ■'! 


m^ 


m|-^ 

M 

•     'I* 


2F4 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO  KTIIICS. 


reserved  for  an  extremely  select  moral  aristocracy, 
who  could  afford  to  look  down,  with  pity  rather  than 
an<^er,  upon  the  vast  mob  of  moral  pariahs  who  are 
doomed  to  perpetual  exclusion  from  all  the  <^l()ries 
of  moral  civilization.  There  is  perhaps  no  feature  of 
Stoical  I'Lthics  which  stands  in  such  marked  contrast 
with  the  I'^thics  of  Christianity,  or  which  distin- 
guishes so  strikinf;ly  the  whole  attitude  of  the  Chris- 
tian Church  from  that  of  the  Stoical  School  towards 
the  practical  problem  of  the  moral  reformation  of  the 
world. 

It  was  a  result  of  the  same  abstraction  of  virtue 
from  the  concrete  facts  of  the  moral  life,  that  the 
virtuous  and  the  vicious  were  separated  in  Stoical 
theory  by  an  absolutely  fixed  line  of  demarcation. 
Whenever  that  line  was  passed  by  a  happy  conver- 
sion from  vice  to  virtue,  a  man's  actions  became 
absolutely  good  ;  but  until  that  line  was  passed,  no 
difference  in  the  moral  value  of  his  actions  was  rec- 
ognized ;  all,  being  without  the  direction  of  rat'onal 
principle,  were  regarded  as  equally  vicious,  just  as  a 
man  who  is  but  an  inch  under  water  is  drowned  as 
completely  as  one  who  sinks  a  hundred  fathoms. 

Of  course  it  was  impossible  to  sustain  this  theorv 
on  the  unattainable  elevation  of  its  abstract  ideal  ; 
and  consequently  its  more  rigid  lines  were  softened 
by  various  modifications  of  later  expositors,  l^ut  it 
is  not  always  easy  to  reconcile  these  modifications 
with  the  essential  principles  of  the  theory  ;  in  fact, 
these  modifications  may  be  accepted  as  a  virtual 
admission  that  the  theory  is  not,  in  itself,  a  com- 
pletely satisfactory  explanation  of  the  moral  life. 


STOICAL  riir.oRir.s. 


21  ; 


oory 
oal  ; 
nctl 

ut  it 
ions 
act, 
tual 
Icom- 


ProbaMy,  therefore,  cnouj^h  has  been  said  to  show 
that  ancient  Stoicism  fails  to  solve  the  problem  of 
I'Uhics  —  fails  to  furnish  a  scientific  definition  of 
morality  by  basing-  it  u[)on  the  indefinite  concept 
of  Nature,  and  even  by  identifying;  that  concept  with 
the  Reason  which  ,L;ives  to  Nature  its  essential  form. 
Accordin<;ly,  thore  is  some  ground  for  the  oi)ini()n, 
which  seems  to  have  been  common  amon,LC  ancient 
critics,  that  Stoicism,  in  its  earlier  and  stricter  type, 
made  no  .i;enuine  improvement  on  the  ethical  doc- 
trines of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  which  recognize  fully 
the  rights  of  reason  in  the  moral  life  of  map  with- 
out i«;norin,LC  the  obvious  facts  of  a  non-rational  sen- 
sibility, which,  as  they  cannot  be  <;()t  rid  of,  must 
be  controlled,  by  reason.  In  fact,  the  later  modifica- 
tions of  Stoical  theory  may  be  viewed  as  a  return 
towards  the  Platonic  and  Aristotelian  Mthics.  A  few 
remarks  on  each  of  these  will  therefore  not  be  out 
of  place. 

The  P^thics  of  Plato  give  a  classification  of  the 
virtues,  which  will  be  noticed  more  appropriately  in 
the  Third  Part  of  this  l^ook.  Here  it  is  sufficient  to 
observe,  that  in  all  the  virtues  of  this  classification 
the  common  factor  is  the  control  of  reason  as  the 
governing  power  in  human  life.  Reason,  however, 
is  the  faculty  of  cognition  ;  and  it  is  as  cognizant  of 
the  chief  end  of  life,  that  reason  directs  us  towards 
that  end.  In  his  definition  of  the  end,  Plato  essayed 
a  bolder  flight  than  had  ever  been  attempted  by  specu- 
lation before,  becoming  the  forerunner  of  those  think- 
ers with  whom,  morality  is  absorbed  in  the  religious 
life.     P'^ollowing  his  master,  he  sought  the  essential 


1 1; 
I- 


» 


tl 


'  V 


i  i. 

i  j 

■  ii 


II 


if!    ' 


U 


m 


i 


m§ 


i.i 
.1, 


216 


AN    IN'I'KODI'CTIOX    TO    ITHKS. 


imlurr  of  everything,  by  finding  tlic  common  element 
which  may  be  traced  in  all  its  various  forms,  tliat  is, 
its  general  conception  or  definition.  Accordingly, 
the  Sovereign  Good  of  man  must  be  that  which  is 
found  to  be  good  for  all  men  at  all  times.  This  must 
be  an  object  which  is  good  in  itself,  and  consequently 
good  for  all  beings  as  well  as  for  man.  It  must,  in 
short,  be  the  Absolute  Gootl,  the  very  essence  of 
i'"oodness  in  all  things.  The  chief  end  of  man  must, 
therefore,  be  the  chief  end  of  all  beings,  — the  chief 
end  of  God  in  the  creation  and  government  of  the 
universe.  Accordingly,  man  can  attain  his  highest 
excellence  or  virtue  only  by  apprehending  the  Divine 
End  of  the  world,  and  directing  his  life  with  a  view 
to  that  end. 

]3ut  what  is  this  Divine  ICnd  that  forms  the  Abso- 
lute Good  of  Man  ?  Negatively  it  is  defined  by  con- 
trast, on  the  one  hand,  with  the  Hedonism  of  the 
Cyrenaics,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  with  the  practical 
extravagances  of  the  Cynics  and  the  cognate  specu- 
lative extravagances  of  the  i\Iegarics.  Against  the 
former,  Plato  maintained  that  the  Absolute  Good,  as 
permanent  and  certain,  cannot  be  of  the  nature  of 
mere  pleasure,  which  is  essentially  changeable,  liable 
at  any  moment  to  pass  over  into  its  opposite.  At 
the  same  time,  in  his  recoil  from  Hedonism,  Plato 
did  not  attenuate  the  Good  into  a  mere  negation  of 
pleasure,  like  the  Cynics,  or  into  a  mere  abstraction 
like  that  of  the  Megarics,  in  which  all  the  concrete 
goodness  of  actual  life  evaporates.  The  Absolute 
Good,  according  to  him,  is  the  most  essential  of  all 
realities,  and  true  virtue  can  only  be  the  realization 


STOKAI.    lill.oUIKS. 


217 


of  the  Absolute  Good  in  huinan  life;  hut  just  for  that 
reason  it  must  descend  into  the  reL;ion  of  sensible 
inijiulsis,  and  direct  their  manifestations  in  accord- 
ance with  its  own  recjuirements.  This  necessity,  in 
fact,  ^ave  Plato  a  point  of  view  from  which  ho  was 
able  to  sketch  his  classification  of  the  virtues. 

In  this  classification,  however,  it  is  impossible  to 
trace  any  definite  characteristic  that  is  common  to  all, 
beyond  the  general  feature  of  all  Stoical  theories, 
which  makes  the  virtuous  life  consist  of  conduct  regu- 
lated by  reason.  Plato's  manner  of  treatment,  more- 
over, showed  at  times  a  tendency  to  the  extreme  of 
Stoicism,  —  the  elevation  of  reason  into  exclusive 
prominence  as  the  constitutive  factor  of  the  virtuous 
life.  V()\  the  virtuous  life  implies  a  co^^nition  of  the 
Divine  Klea  of  the  Good,  which  is  the  essential  con- 
stituent of  all  forms  of  virtue  ;  and,  consequently,  the 
more  clearly  that  Idea  is  conceived,  the  nearer  does 
virtue  approach  to  perfection.  At  times,  therefore, 
the  highest  virtue  is  represented  as  consisting  in  an 
abstract  contemplation  of  the  Divine  Idea,  —  an  ab- 
straction from  sense  as  complete  as  is  demanded  by 
the  strictest  Stoicism. 

The  ICthics  of  Aristotle  have  been  commonly  viewed 
as  radically  opposed  to  those  of  Plato,  perhaps  mainly 
because  he  criticises  the  Platonic  doctrine  which 
makes  the  Good  a  Divine  Idea.  But  if  we  eliminate 
this  criticism,  it  will  be  found  that  the  ethical  theo- 
ries of  the  two  philosophers  are  substantially  identi- 
cal. Aristotle,  too,  maintains  that  the  r/apreme  end 
of  human  existence  must  be  one  that  satisfies  a 
reasonable  being,  and  that  therefore  the  virtuous  life 


,11: 


ill 


],;m 

■^'i 


w  I 


218 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO    KTIIICS. 


must  consist  in  conduct  regulated  by  reason.  Nor 
does  he,  any  more  than  Plato,  ignore  the  non-rational 
impulses  ca  the  human  soul ;  he  assigns,  in  fact,  a 
large  s})here  of  the  virtuous  life  to  a  control  of  these. 
l^y  this  control,  he  held  that  all  extremes  must  be 
avoided  :  for  whether  a  natural  impulse  is  defectixo 
or  excessive,  the  result  is  equally  a  fault,  a  vice.  All 
virtue,  therefore,  so  far  as  it  deals  with  the  passions, 
consists  in  rationally  directing  their  exercise  so  as 
to  hit  the  happy  mean  between  the  vicious  extremes 
of  excess  and  defect.  Thus,  courage  is  the  right 
mean  between  cowardice  and  foolhardiness ;  liber- 
ality, between  stinginess  and  reckless  extravagance. 

But  as  Aristotle  proceeds  in  his  description  of  the 
moral  life,  there  is  distinct  evidence  of  the  Stoical 
tendency,  which  was  traced  also  in  Plato,  to  separate 
the  highest  virtue  from  all  indulgences  of  a  non- 
rational  sensibility,  and  to  find  it  rather  in  a  life  of 
calm  contemplation,  in  which  the  passions  are  silent, 
and  only  the  voice  of  reason  is  heard. 

The  I'^thical  Rationalism,  as  it  may  be  called,  of 
the  ancient  world,  in  the  moderate  form  in  wliich  it 
was  maintained  by  Plato  and  Aristotle,  as  well  as  in 
the  extreme  form  in  which  it  was  afterwards  devel- 
oped by  the  Stoics,  continued  to  exert  a  profound 
influence  over  ethical  speculation,  even  after  Chris- 
tianity had  transformed  the  religious  conceptions  of 
men.  But  we  must  come  down  to  the  modern  world 
before  we  meet  with  any  definitely  new  attempt  to 
find  an  explanation  of  the  moral  life  on  purely  philo- 
sophical grounds.  Some  of  the  most  interesting  of 
these  modern  efforts  of  ethical  speculation  are  to  be 
found  in  l^nglish  Pldlosophy. 


STOICAL   THEORIES. 


2f0 


.  of 
•h  it 
IS  ill 
>vcl- 
(iind 
iris- 
s  of 
Olid 
t  to 
lilo- 
g  of 
)  be 


§  2.    Eiii^lis/i  Stoical  Moralists. 

In  Britain  speculation  on  ethical  (juestions  received 
its  first  powerful  stimulus  during  the  seventeenth 
century  from  those  startling  theories  of  Thomas 
llobbes,  to  which  reference  has  been  made  already. 
The  most  formidable  opposition  which  llobbes  en 
countered  in  his  own  time  came  from  a  set  of  men 
connected  with  the  University  of  Cambridge,  who, 
following  in  the  lines  of  the  Old  Academy,  were 
known  as  the  Cambridge  Platonists.^  Among  these 
the  most  eminent  was  Dr.  Ralph  Cud  worth  (1617- 
1688).  Only  two  of  his  works  have  ever  been  pub- 
lished. One,  containing  his  Speculative  Philosophy, 
is  entitled  T/ic  Trite  Intellectual  Systevi  of  tJie  Uni- 
verse. The  other,  a  posthumous  Treatise  concernin^i^ 
Eternal  and  Inunntable  Morality,  is  a  brief  exposition 
of  his  Practical  Philosoj^hy. 

The  latter  is  explicitly  directed  against  the  ethical 
theory  of  Hobbes,  which  he  properly  regards  as  being 
in  substance  identical  with  that  of  Occam,^  inas- 
much as  both  maintain  that  the  distinction  between 
good  and  evil  is  created  by  an  unintelligent  force, 
that  is,  by  the  mere  Ttv7/  of  God  or  man,  conceived 
as  independent  of  divine  or  human  intelligence.  This, 
however,  is  to  make  essential  distinctions,  like  those 
of  good  and  evil,  altogether  arbitrary,  or,  in  other 
words,  to  deny  that  there  is  anything  immutable  in 
the  nature  or  essence  of  things.     Such  a  theory  must 

'  A  valuable  account  of  those  idealiNtic  thinkers  will  be  found  in  Tulloch's 
A'ntioiuil  T/ico/oi^y  and  Christian  Philosophy  in  England  in  the  Seventeenth 
Century.,  \'()!.  II. 

2  See  above,  p.  56. 


V 


I  I 


.•  1 


1 


m, 
m 


220 


AN  INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


^»- 


1   ■-■.• 
I 


J|,;   I  1 . 


II 


;i } 


m  ' 


I'M 


ii' 


t  : 


III 


t 

I      , 

; 

•     « 


'i 

.  '    1      .  ■  ■  ■ 

J 

1  <  H'' 

IMt: 

1 
1 

assume  that  reason  can  never  penetrate  beyond  sensi- 
ble appearances,  that  knowledge  is,  in  fact,  nothing 
but  a  series  of  vanishing  impressions  excited  in  our 
senses.  But  Cudworth,  reviving  Platonic  Idealism, 
especially  as  expounded  in  the  Thcactctus,  proves  that 
this  is  a  totally  inadequate  conception  of  intelligence, 
l^esides  the  impressions  of  sense,  —  ((ti]6i\u<aa  or  (jai- 
iu(TtutT(t^  —  knowledge  implies  conceptions  of  the  mind 
itself  —  i'or;,M«i(« ;  and  these  conceptions  are  not  pas- 
sively received  from  external  sense,  but  formed  by  the 
inward  active  energy  of  the  soul.  Now,  the  objects 
of  these  conceptions  are  not  mutable,  individual,  sen- 
sible things,  but  immutable  essences  of  things,  which 
remain  as  they  arc  always  to  the  Eternal  Mind,  by 
whom  they  arc  communicated  to  finite  minds.  With- 
out these  conceptions,  in  fact,  there  could  be  no 
science ;  for  science  is  not  of  vanishing  appearances, 
but  of  immutable  natures  or  essences.  Now,  good 
and  evil  in  human  action  are  of  this  immutable  charac- 
ter. They  are  not  dependent  on  opinion  or  arbitrary 
will  ;  they  are  in  reality  what  they  are  to  the  I'^ternal 
Mind.  All  morality,  therefore,  rests  ultimately  on 
God. 

The  Cambridge  Platonists  were  hampered  by  the 
same  defect  which  marred  the  Ethics  of  ancient 
Platonism,  and  which  arose  out  of  the  Socratic  identi- 
fication of  virtue  and  knowledge.  Virtue  is  certainly 
a  life  directed  by  knowledge  ;  but  its  differentiating 
characteristic  is  the  fact,  that  it  is  a  /(fr,  an  activity, 
and  not  a  wr/v  kuow/c'dgc  or  contemplation  of  truth. 
In  the  Platonic  theories,  both  of  ancient  and  of  mod- 
ern times,  we  do  not  get  beyond  the  general  principle 


STOICAL   THEORIES. 


22  I 


Y  the 
cicnt 
cnti- 
ainly 
itiiii; 
vity, 
Lith. 
mod- 
ciplc 


that  the  Good  is  an  ohjcct  of  reason,  not  a  mere 
excitement  of  sensibility  ;  but  what  differentiates  it 
as  an  object  to  be  realized  in  practice  from  any  object 
of  jiurely  speculative  reason,  is  scarcely  ever  satisfac- 
torily defined.  A  similar  defect  clinics  to  the  later 
efforts  of  l^nc^dish  ethical  speculation  on  the  lines  of 
Stoicism,  though  they  certainly  in  general  attain  a 
more  distinct  definition  of  the  Good  as  an  object  of 
reason. 

In  the  history  of  these  later  efforts  perhajis  the  most 
])rominent  place  ought  to  be  given  to  Dr.  Samuel 
Clarke  (1675-1729).  When  Clarke  appeared,  the 
English  Platonism  of  the  seventeenth  century  was 
dying  out,  and  a  new  form  was  given  to  speculation 
on  ethical  as  well  as  other  problems  by  one  of  the 
most  influential  works  of  English  Philosophy,  Locke's 
Essdy  concerning  Human  Understanding.  In  this 
famous  work  all  the  ideas  which  enter  into  human 
intelligence  are  traced  to  tw^o  sources,  sensation  and 
reflection,  that  is,  either  to  some  impression  on  the 
bodily  senses,  or  to  reflection  on  the  operations  of 
the  mind  itself.  This  doctrine  has  been  usually  in- 
terpreted as  involving  a  thorough  Empiricism,  if  not 
even  a  Sensualism,  which  would  make  it  impossible 
to  lay  any  foundation  for  the  moral  law,  or  indeed  for 
truth  of  any  kind.  But  a  few  of  those  who  were  in- 
fluenced by  the  Lockian  movement  have  yet  endeav- 
ored to  find  an  unassailable  ground  of  truth  both 
speculative  and  practical  in  the  fundamental  princi- 
l)les  of  the  Essaj'  concerz/ing  Human  Understanding. 
Some,  as  we  have  seen,  asserted  the  existence  of  a 
higher  form  of  sensibility,  from  which  moral  and  other 


'  i 


•  H 


■  \  it 


i-  I 


I 


m' 


''I 


^1 


!■       I 


i:     P 


■i 

' 

\\ 

hi 

i' 
III 
it,. 

•     « 


222 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO    IITIIICS. 


ideas  are  received,  l^ut  others  souirht  the  same  end 
by  a  different  road.  Ik'sides  the  ideas  of  sensation 
and  reflection,  Locke  recognized  as  an  essential  fac- 
tor of  knowledge  an  activity  which  it  is  impossible 
to  reconcile  with  absolute  ICmpiricism,  —  an  activity 
by  which  the  mind  goes  beyond  the  ideas  it  receives, 
and  compares  them  with  one  another,  so  as  to  form 
the  new  idea  of  their  relations. 

It  is  this  activity  upon  which  Clarke  seizes  to  ex- 
plain at  once  the  subjective  origin  and  the  objective 
immutability  of  moral  ideas.  The  function  of  this 
activity  is,  to  discover  the  relations  in  which  things 
stand  to  one  another, —  "the  fitnesses  of  things,"  as 
Clarke  is  fond  of  calling  them.  Now,  all  through 
the  universe  there  are,  independent  of  the  things  re 
lated,  certain  relations  or  fitnesses  which  are  in  their 
very  nature  absolutely  immutable.  Such  are  the  rela- 
tions of  equality  or  proportion  between  certain  num- 
bers or  between  certain  geometrical  figures, — the 
equation,  for  example,  of  2  -j-  2  and  4,  or  of  the  three 
internal  angles  of  a  triangle  to  two  right  angles.  As 
reason  discovers  these  necessary  and  eternal  relations, 
it  would  be  essentially  unreasonable  to  act  as  if  these 
relations  did  not  hold.  But  in  life  also  there  are 
relations  which  are  equally  necessary  and  immutable. 
Every  human  being  stands  in  a  necessary  relation  to 
his  Creator  as  well  as  to  his  fellow-creatures,  while 
there  are  likewise  certain  relations  between  the  dif- 
ferent powers  of  his  own  nature.  Reason,  therefore, 
in  discovering  these  immutable  relations,  imposes  an 
eternal  obligation  to  observe  them  in  practical  life. 
This  eternal  obligation  —  Clarke  argues  with  obvious 


STOICAL   TIIEUKIKS. 


tit 


;  end 
at  ion 
.1  fac- 
isible 
tivity 
eivcs, 
form 

to  cx- 
ective 
f  this 
;hin<;s 
;-s,"  as 
rouirb 


igs  re 


their 
rela- 
niim- 
—  the 
three 
As 
tions, 
these 
e   are 
table, 
on  to 
while 
e  dif- 
efore, 
;es  an 
1  hfe. 
vious 


reference  to  Hobbes  and  Occam  —  does  not  arise 
from  any  advantage  or  disadvantage,  any  reward  or 
punishment,  connected  with  its  practical  observance 
or  violation.  It  is  independent  of,  and  antecedent 
to,  any  pleasant  or  painful  consequences  which  may 
be  connected  with  it  either  by  natural  law  or  by 
positive  enactment.  It  originates  in  the  very  nature 
of  the  relations  themselves ;  and  conse({uently  all 
virtue  consists  in  the  practical  observance  of  what, 
in  the  favorite  phrase  of  Clarke,  are  called  "the  eter- 
nal fitnesses  of  things." 

Obviously  this  theory  stands  peculiarly  open  to  the 
criticism  already  passed  on  definitions  of  morality, 
which  proceed  on  the  Socratic  identification  of  virtue 
with  knowledge.  It  is  a  perfectly  true,  and  even  a 
very  impressive,  aspect  of  virtue,  which  connects  it 
with  the  immutable  relations  in  which  human  beings 
are  placed,  and  therefore  describes  all  wrong-doing 
as  an  irrational  disregard  of  "  the  eternal  fitnesses  of 
things."  But  every  act  is  not  necessarily  a  moral 
wrong,  which  ignores  such  immutable  facts  ;  nor  docs 
an  action,  by  harmonizing  with  these,  become  of 
necessity  virtuous.  A  man  may  make  a  mistake  in 
an  arithmetical  calculation  or  a  geometrical  measure- 
ment, and  he  may  be  forced  to  suffer  serious  incon- 
venience from  his  mistake ;  but  his  action,  though 
violating  certain  eternal  relations,  is  not  placed  in  the 
same  category  with  an  act  of  impiety  which  disre- 
gards the  eternal  relation  of  a  creature  to  his  Crea- 
tor, or  with  the  transactions  of  a  swindler  who  ignores 
the  immutable  relation  of  debtor  and  creditor,  (^r  willi 
the  excesses  of  a  sensualist  who  forgets  the  subordi- 


niili 


ii' 


224 


AN    LN'TRODUCIIOX     TO   KTIIICS. 


fit 


w 

m 


iiiiii 


tuition  in  whir  appetite  stands  to  reason.  In  like 
manner,  a  man  may  be  perfectly  accurate  in  observ- 
ing an  eternal  fitness  without  his  observance  being 
necessarily  a  virtuous  action.' 

The  theory  of  Clarke,  therefore,  whatever  its  merits, 
fails  to  explain  the  differentiating  characteristic  of 
virtue,  —  the  quality  which  distinguishes  an  act  of 
intellectual  blundering  from  one  that  implies  moral 
perversity.  The  same  criticism  may  be  urged  against 
another  Stoical  theory  which  resembles  Clarke's  in 
its  essential  features,  and  which  is  expounded  with 
much  felicitous  illustration  and  acutencss  of  moral 
insight.  It  is  the  theory  of  a  contemporary  of  Clarke, 
William  Wollaston  (1659- 1724),  known  mainly  as 
author  of  T/ic  I\.c/ii^io;i  of  Nature  Delineated.  Wol- 
laston's  theory  starts  from  the  fact,  that  truth  can  be 
expressed,  not  only  by  words,  but  also,  and  more 
effectively,  by  actions. ^  Now,  truth  is  a  conformity 
to  fact,  to  nature,  to  things  as  they  really  are  ;  and 
a  proposition  is  true  when  it  expresses  the  real  nature 
of  things,  or  their  real  relations.^  But  no  action  is 
right,  if  it  is  not  in  harmony  with  the  real  nature  of 

1  Clarke  does  not  seem  uniformly  able  to  hold  to  the  eternal  relations  as 
forming  the  ultimate  reason  of  the  moral  law  ;  for  he  speaks  of  God  enacting 
the  observance  of  these  relations  "  in  order  to  tlie  welfare  of  the  wliole  uni- 
verse," as  man  enacts  it  "  for  tlie  good  of  the  public.*'  {Discourse CoincrHhn:; 
the  Unchangeable  Obligation  of  Natural  Religion,  Proposition  I.)  Tiiis 
being  merely  an  incidental  expression,  however,  it  would  be  unfair  to  press  it 
in  opposition  to  the  ^^cneral  and  essential  drift  of  his  theory. 

2  On  p.  13  of  Wollaston's  work  there  is  a  note  quoting  some  remarkable 
expressions  in  the  New  Testament,  as  well  as  in  Plato's  and  Aristotle's  writ- 
ings, about  doing  truth  or  falsehood. 

•'  Wollastcii's  language  often  recalls  that  of  the  ancient  Stoics,  as  well  as 
of  Clarke.  See  especially  Section  First,  §  IV.  2,  in  The  Religion  of  Nature 
Delineated, 


like 
)scrv- 
bcing 

icrits, 
tic  of 
ict  of 
moral 
gainst 
:c's  in 
d  with 
moral 
r.larkc, 
nly  as 
Wol- 
can  be 
]  more 
ormity 
c  ;  and 
nature 
tion  is 
Iture  of 

Nations  as 
Id  enacting 
Iwliole  uni- 

1.)     This 
lo  press  it 

^emarkable 

iotlc's  writ- 

as  well  as 
iof  Nut  It  re 


SroiCAI-   TIIKOKIES. 


!^5 


the  thing  to  which  it  refers,  or  with  its  real  relations  ; 
while  an  action  may  be  said  to  be  riglit  if  its  omis- 
sion, and  wrong  if  its  c(jmmission,  would  contradict 
a  true  proposition.  Thus,  to  take  a  single  example, 
a  thief,  by  assuming  as  his  property  what  is  not  his 
property  at  all,  is  declaring  by  his  actions,  as  dis- 
tinctly as  he  could  in  any  words,  what  is  an  untrue 
proposition. 

§   3.    Perfectionism. 

Amonir  the  Stoical  moralists  of  the  modern  world 
will  be  found  some  of  various  nationalities,  who  take 
the  concept  of  perfection  as  affording  the  true  expla- 
nation of  the  ethical  ideal. ^  Tw^o  forms  of  this  the- 
ory may  be  distinguished  —  the  one  as  individualistic, 
the  other  as  socialistic.  The  former  takes  as  the 
supreme  ideal  the  perfection  of  the  individual ;  the 
latter,  the  perfection  of  society. 

In  whatever  form  the  theory  is  conceived,  it  is 
the  idea  of  perfection  to  which  we  are  referred  for 
our  comprehension  of  the  supreme  end  of  human 
existence ;  and  therefore  we  must  analyze  this  con- 
cept in  order  to  find  out  what  the  supreme  end  is. 
Perfection  is  of  course  an  end  to  which  any  devel- 
opment may  point  ;  it  is  in  fact  nothing  but  the 
ultimate,  and  therefore  the  supreme,  end  of  any 
development.      In  order  to  perfect  development  in 

1  In  English  literature  perhaps  the  most  eminent  representative  of  this 
doctrine  was  a  man  who  tloserves  a  more  prominent  place  than  he  generally 
receives  in  our  histories  uf  Etliics,  —  Adam  Ferguson.  See  his  Principles  of 
Moral  (1)1(1  Political  Science,  especially  Part  II.,  chapters  i.  and  ii.  There 
is  a  caretid  crititpie  of  the  doctrine  in  a  recent  work  by  Mr.  S.  Alexander  on 
Moral  Order  ami  Pr-^^ress,  Llouk  II.  chapter  v. 


|! 


-|i; 


MM 


I 


u 


III 


i  r 


iifll 


226 


AN'   IXTKODUCTIOX   TO   ETHICS. 


man,  not  only  must  every  different  /v'//^/  of  power 
be  developed,  but  every  power  must  be  developed 
to  tbe  ]ii,L,diest  (h\<^irc\  ]?ut  this  is  merely  another 
way  of  saying  that  man,  as  a  rational  agent,  must 
not  be  governed  by  limited  views  whieh  have  no 
reference  to  an  universal  principle.  To  limit  the 
degree  of  development  may  be  a  reasonable,  and 
therefore  legitimate,  aim  for  a  particular  individual 
on  some  particular  occasion  ;  but  it  could  not  be 
prescribed  as  an  universal  law, — as  a  law  for  all 
individuals,  or  even  as  a  law  for  any  individual  at 
all  times.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  effort  to 
develop  certain  powers  at  the  expense  of  others. 
And  if  it  is  social  perfection  that  is  made  our  ideal, 
it  is  equally  obvious  that  a  proi)osal  to  develop  in 
any  way  certain  individuals  or  classes  at  the  expense 
of  others  can  never  become  an  uni\'ersal  law  of 
human   society. 

We  are  thus  led  to  look  beyond  the  idea  of  per- 
fection for  an  explanation  of  the  moral  import  of 
that  idea  itself,  and  to  look  in  a  direction  which 
will  be  understood  from  the  movement  of  specu- 
lation described  in   the  next  section 

§  4.    The  Kantian  Moveniejit. 

A  common  and  obvious  defect  of  the  Stoical 
theories  which  have  been  reviewed  —  perhaps  their 
essential  defect  —  is  the  fact,  that,  while  they  con- 
nect morality  with  reason  by  pointing  to  a  certain 
analogy  between  the  object  of  reason  in  regulating 
conduct  and  its  object  in  the  discovery  of  truth, 
they  yet  make  no  attempt  to  show  how  the  moral 


STOICAI.   TIIKOKIKS. 


IT? 


per- 
il of 
which 
pecu- 


toical 
their 
'  con- 
2rtain 
latiiig 
ruth, 
noral 


huv  is  a  necessary  evohitioii  from  the  very  function 
of  reason.  Tliis  prohlem  of  Stoical  ICthics  was  put 
for  the  first  time  into  (h'stinct  form  by  Immanuel 
Kant  (1724-1804);  antl  ethical  speculation,  at  least 
in  the  direction  of  Stoicism,  has  been  ever  since 
profoundly  modified  by  his  views.  Maintaining  that 
tile  moral  law  is  not  given  to  the  reason  ah  extra, — 
from  any  non-rational  source  like  our  sensibility,  — 
he  sought  to  show  that  it  is  a  development  of  reason 
itself, — of  reason  considered  purely  as  reason.  In 
other  words,  he  derived  the  moral  law  from  the 
forui  which  reason  imposes  on  its  own  activity, 
rather  than  from  any  matter  which  it  receives  ; 
that  is  to  say,  he  found  the  matter  of  the  law  in 
its  very  form. 

To  understand  this  theory  wc  must  recall  the 
main  problem  of  Ethics.  This  problem  is  not,  like 
that  of  Ethical  Psychology,  to  trace  the  subjective 
processes  by  which  the  moral  consciousness  is  devel- 
oped ;  it  seeks  rather  to  find  the  objective  standard 
or  law  by  which  the  moral  life  is  to  be  governed. 
Now,  an  objective  standard  must  be  one  which  is 
elevated  above  the  caprices  of  particular  minds, — 
one  which  holds,  not  merely  for  a  liniited  number 
of  individuals,  but  for  all  intelligent  beings.  Such 
a  standard  is  given  in  a  law  which  intelligence 
enacts  by  the  necessity  of  its  nature,  and  which 
therefore  binds  intelligent  beings  simply  by  virtue 
of  the  fact  that  they  are  intelligent.  For  such  a 
law  must  be  absolutely  universal  in  its  application 
to  intelligent  beings. 

But  in  our  analysis  of  the  moral  consciousness  it 


m 


»:i 


ii' 


*  ! 


!t 


■■fi 


II 


22S 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    KTIIICS. 


T  i 


I 

li 

!  i'  5 


I  i  lip!  i'if' 


was  shown,  thai,  when  ititcHi^cncc  is  ai)i)lic(l  to  the 
(hrcction  of  conckict,  it  (h)cs  direct  conckict  by  prc- 
scribini;  as  a  rule  for  L;ui(lance  an  end  which  is 
universally  valid.  That  is  to  say,  the  end  prescribed 
must  be  uniwrsally  valid,  in  the  first  place,  for  the 
a,i;ent  himself,  by  bein^  ap})licable,  not  merely  to  a 
limited  j)eri()d  of  his  life,  but  to  all  time  ;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  it  must  be  universally  valid  because 
it  applies,  not  to  a  limited  number  of  persons  alone, 
but  to  all  intelligent  beings.  In  short,  practical 
intelligence  seeks  to  elicit  in  the  direction  of  con- 
duct  that  universal  element,  in  virtue  of  which 
alone  we  can  be  said  to  know  what  in  reality  oiii^/it 
to  lh\  just  as  speculative  intelligence  seeks  to  elicit 
in  the  discovery  of  truth  the  universal  element,  in 
virtue  of  which  alone  we  can  be  said  to  know  what 
in  reality  is. 

Kant  accordingly  held  that  the  form  in  which 
reason  fulfds  its  function  relieves  it  from  the  neces- 
sity of  going  to  any  external  source  in  order  to 
obtain  the  material  of  a  law  for  the  government 
of  human  conduct.  That  material  is  involved  in 
the  very  fact,  that  the  reason  necessarily  seeks  for 
every  individual  a  law  of  conduct  that  is  applicable, 
not  to  liim  alone,  but  to  all,  and  for  every  particular 
act  of  his  a  law  that  is  applicable  to  his  whole  life. 
In  other  words,  reason  requires  that  the  particular 
maxim  or  rule  by  which  every  act  of  human  life 
is  governed  shall  be,  in  its  essential  principle,  of 
universal  application.  ,  This  is  the  purport  of  the 
famous  formula  of  Kant,  which,  in  accordance  with 
language  already  explained,  he  calls  the  Categorical 


STOKAI,  TIIKORIKS. 


229 


1  to  the 
l)y  i^rc- 
hich   is 
■scribed 
for  the 
jly  to  ;i 
and,  in 
because 
s  alone, 
)ractical 
of  con- 
wliich 
ty  oiii;/it 
to  elicit 
nent,  in 
:)W  what 

which 
neces- 
Ircler    to 
rnment 
lived    in 
teks  for 
Dlicable, 
Irticular 
lole  life, 
irticular 
lan  life 
pie,  of 
of   the 
•e  with 
■uricul 


Imperative: — "Act  so  that  tlie  maxim  of  thy  will 
may  be  capable  of  being  adopted  as  a  principle  of 
universal  lef^islation." 

Great  as  have  been  the  services  of  Kant  to  the 
I'hdosoi^hy  of  ICthics,  it  is  scarcely  possii)le  t')  ignore 
a  defect  in  his  theory  similar  to  that  which  has  licen 
pointed  out  in  the  theory  of  the  ancient  Stoics,  and 
which  mars,  in  fact,  most  theories  of  a  Stoical  ten- 
dency. Stoicism  is  always  ajit  to  treat  the  moral 
life  as  a  life  of  reason  in  complete  abstraction  from 
the  facts  of  human  sensibility.  This  flaw  stands  out 
in  the  system  of  Kant,  jierhaps  in  an  exaggerated 
form,  from  the  very  fact  that  he  had  conceived  the 
problem  of  I'^thics  more  clearly  than  his  predeces- 
sors. By  Kant,  it  would  almost  ajipear  as  if  reason 
were  conceived  like  a  force  working  /;/  vaai(\  deter- 
mining the  law  of  its  workings,  but  without  any 
material  to  work  upon.  Such  a  conception  of  rea- 
son, however,  is  metaphysically  meaningless,  as  it  is 
ethically  invalid.  Self-conscious  intelligence,  as  a 
knovving  subject,  supposes  an  object  known,  and,  as 
a  willing  subject,  supposes  an  object  willed.  In  view 
of  this  elementary  fact  of  rational  life,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  treat  practical  reason  without  reference  to  the 
o])jects  which  it  is  to  modify,  as  it  is  impossible  to 
treat  speculative  reason  as  if  there  were  no  objective 
world  which  it  makes  known. 

It  is  but  due,  however,  to  Kant  personally,  as  well 
as  to  historical  truth,  to  bear  in  mind,  that  the  prob- 
lem with  wdiich  he  specially  dealt  imposed  on  him  a 
deuree  of  abstraction  which  he  might  have  avoided 
if  he   had  been  approaching  the  problem  of  ICthics 


V 


I   I 


:   I 


in.: 


It 


hj 


:i:»' 


'H 


i:i 


hiiy 


lit  ^ 


f  I 

M 


I 


.,  i 


r>30 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   F.THTrS. 


from  a  different  point  of  view.  Indeed,  whenever 
lie  proceeds  to  interpret  his  formuhi  of  moral  lei;isla- 
tion,  he  no  lonj^er  conceives  it  as  a  product  of  practi- 
cal reason  working;  by  itself  in  isolation  from  any 
object  which  it  determines.  The  truth  is,  that  the 
ideal  standard  of  morality  reveals  itself  always  as 
reason  seekinj:^  to  brin^  the  life  of  man  into  har- 
mony with  the  universality  of  its  own  requirements  ; 
and  therefore  the  standard  is  moulded  at  every  mo- 
ment of  evolution  by  the  conditions  of  the  moment. 
For  this  reason,  as  was  shown  in  the  previous  l^ook, 
the  evolution  of  the  moral  consciousness  is  always  a 
progress  towards  universality,  takini;  in  more  and 
more  of  the  life  of  man.  Accordingly  the  moral 
standard  must  not  be  conceived,  as  it  has  been  com- 
monly represented  by  Stoicism,  as  if  it  demanded  n 
comjilete  abstraction  of  reason  from  all  external  con- 
ditions,—  a  life  in  which  a  cool  impersonal  intelli- 
gence divests  itself  of  all  the  warm  clothing  of  human 
sensation  and  emotion.  On  the  contrary,  the  moral 
standard  has  no  significance  except  in  relation  to  the 
particular  conditions  of  our  mental  and  physical  life, 
which  it  would  bring  into  harmony  with  the  universal 
requirements  of  reason. 

Thus,  for  example,  it  is  meaningless  to  speak  of  a 
moral  standard  which  treats  us  as  if  wc  were  purely 
rational  beings  without  reference  to  that  natural  sen- 
sibility  which  it  is  the  function  of  reason  to  control 
in  ourselves  and  to  respect  in  others.  It  would  be 
equally  meaningless  to  work  out  a  moral  standard 
with  reference  merely  to  human  nature  in  the  ab- 
stract, and  not  to  the  concrete  human  nature  that 


in  r 


STOIC  A  r.  TirKokir.s. 


231 


icncvcr 

Ictjjlsla- 

:  practi- 

)m  any 

hat  the 

^^ays  as 

ito  hai- 

mcnts  ; 

cry  mo- 

lomcnt. 

s  Book, 

Iways  a 

)re  and 

;    moral 

.Ml  com- 

mded  a 

lal  coM- 

intclli- 

unnan 

moral 

to  the 

al  life, 

iversal 

ik  of  a 
}nirely 
al  sen- 
.^ontrol 
uld  be 
andard 
he  ab- 
■e  that 


is  realized  in  each  individual.  The  moral  standard 
remains  an  empty  iileal  until  it  is  fdled  up  with  con- 
tents from  the  conditions  of  each  individual's  life. 
ICvery  human  bein^i;  is  thrown  into  human  history  in 
a  particular  locality  at  a  particular  period  ;  he  jjjrows 
up  in  a  particular  family  and  in  a  particular  social 
circle.  He  is  thus,  by  the  necessities  of  nature, 
l-)laced  in  manifold  relations,  political,  civic,  social, 
domestic,  with  his  fellow-men.  By  his  own  choice 
also,  —  by  specific  contracts  and  other  actions,  — ^^hc 
is  continually  multiplying;  these  relations.  It  is  these 
relations,  as  interpreted  by  the  universal  require- 
ments of  reason,  that  determine  for  each  individual 
the  moral  ideal  which  should  regulate  his  intercourse 
with  his  fellows.  There  arc  also  peculiarities  in  his 
own  condition,  sometimes  features  of  his  inherited 
constitution,  sometimes  results  of  his  own  conduct, 
in  the  light  of  which  reason  imposes  upon  him  the 
most  imperious  obligations  of  behavior. 

It  is  obvious,  therefore,  that  the  particular  rules 
of  conduct  prescribed  by  the  moral  ideal  must  vary 
greatly  for  different  individuals,  as  well  as  for  differ- 
ent stages  of  moral  culture  both  in  the  individual  and 
in  the  race.  For  every  particular  rule,  though  eman- 
ating from  an  universal  principle,  must  be  modified, 
and  therefore  more  or  less  limited,  by  the  particular 
conditions  to  which  it  points.  It  is  impossible,  there- 
fore, that  any  particular  rule  can  ever  give  adequate 
expression  to  the  universal  principle  of  morality. 
This  is  most  obviously  the  case  with  those  rules  of 
conduct  which  belong  to  the  legal,  rither  than  the 
moral,  sphere  ;  because,  as  will  be  shown  more  fully 


H 


V' 


■'i 


i'A 


imi 


\m 


>t 

I. 


fit?! 


i 


.1 


'1 


232 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    ETHICS. 


afterwards,  they  point  almost  exclusively  to  the  exter- 
nal act  in  abstraction  from  the  internal  motive  which 
connects  it  with  the  universal  principle  of  morality. 
For  this  reason,  among  others,  laws  have  such  a  limited 
applicability,  both  in  space  and  in  time,  being  adapted 
to  the  circumstances  of  one  country,  but  not  to  those 
n[  another,  and  becoming  obsolete  even  in  the  country 
lo  which  they  were  originally  adapted,  owing  to  the 
varying  conditions  of  its  history.  It  remains,  there- 
fore, a  standing  problem  in  the  enactment  and  ad- 
ministration of  laws,  to  readjust  them  to  the  altered 
requirements  of  new  social  conditions,  as  is  com- 
monly done,  either  by  fresh  legislation  or  by  new 
interpretations  of  old  laws. 

But  it  is  not  merely  legal  rules  of  conduct  that  are 
thus  restricted  in  their  application  ;  a  similar  restric- 
tion holds  with  regard  to  moral  rules  as  well.  Rules 
which  maybe  of  the  highest  utility,  if  not  even  indis- 
pensable, in  the  moral  discipline  of  childhood,  may 
become  extremely  detrimental  if  used  to  cramp  the 
spirit  of  independence  which  it  is  essential  to  culti- 
vate in  youth  and  manhood.  Men  find  also  that  there 
are  often  peculiarities  m  their  social  or  political  sur- 
roundings which  enforce  upon  themselves  peculiar 
restrictions  of  conduct  in  order  to  be  perfectly  just 
to  their  fellow-men  ;  while  they  also  recognize,  at 
times,  peculiarities  in  their  natural  constitution  or 
acquired  habits,  which  impose  similar  restrictions  in 
the  interests  of  })ersonal  morality.  These  restric- 
tions, however,  though  representing  the  universal 
principle  of  the  moral  life  within  their  own  limited 
conditions,  must  not  be  taken  as  universally  applica- 


STOICAL   THEORIES. 


233 


blc ;  and  any  attempt  to  enforce  them  beyond  these 
conditions  must  always  he  frau<j;ht  with  peril  to  the 
moral  welfare.  Unfortunately,  this  fact  is  adequately 
realized  only  by  minds  of  the  largest  moral  intelli- 
gence. With  the  majority  of  men,  the  habit  of  asso- 
ciating particular  rules  of  conduct  with  the  supi'ome 
requirements  of  the  moral  life  leads  to  these  rules 
beiniT  invested  with  all  the  sacredness  of  the  ends 
which  they  are  adapted  to  serve  ;  and  on  those  whose 
lives  have  been  moulded  by  the  influence  of  such 
rules,  custom  comes  to 

"  lie  with  a  weight 
Heavy  as  frost,  and  deep  ahiiost  as  life." 

But  the  growth  of  the  individual  and  of  the  race 
is  continually  revealing  the  inadequacy  of  prevalent 
moral  usages  to  express  the  universal  requirements 
of  the  moral  reason  of  mankind  ;  for  when  a  particu- 
lar usage  fails  to  express  these  requirements,  it  may 
not  only  cramp  the  spirit  of  morality,  but  even  form 
a  cloak  to  a  spirit  that  is  essentially  immoral.  ICven 
the  heavens,  it  is  said,  shall  wax  old  as  doth  a  gar- 
ment, undoubtedly  when  they  have  ceased  to  express 
the  creative  thought  and  energy  of  the  Originating 
Intelligence  ;  so  the  fashions  of  life,  which  have  been 
'-reatcd  by  moral  intelligence,  become  obsolete  by 
ceasing  to  express  its  creative  thought  and  energy. 
Moral  reformation,  therefore,  must  consist  in  casting 
off  the  chrysalis  of  antitpiated  moral  fashions,  in  order 
that  the  spirit  may  soar  freely  into  a  region  of  purer 
morality.     And  thus,  necessarily,  from  time  to  time, — 

•'The  old  order  chaiit;oth,  yielding  i)Iace  to  ihc  new, 
And  (loci  fulfils  himself  in  many  ways. 
Lest  one  good  i  i!  tom  slioukl  ccjiiupt  the  world." 


'       .if 


'!     I 


1^ 


''r:  ill 


234 


AX    INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


The  bearing  of  this  on  the  legislative  function  of 
the  moral  reason  is  obvious.  It  enjoins,  not  so  much 
particular  rules  of  conduct,  as  rather  a  general  spirit 
for  the  government  of  life  in  particular  cases.  And 
therefore,  further,  the  obligations  which  moral  reason 
imposes  are  not  to  be  conceived  merely  as  restric- 
tions of  human  freedom.  It  has  been  common,  in- 
deed, in  extreme  Cynical  or  ascetic  codes  of  morality, 
to  represent  duty  in  a  purely  negative  aspect.  But 
this  is  a  wholly  inadequate  representation.  Duty  is 
not  merely  self-denial  ;  it  is  also  self-assertion.  It  is 
indeed  an  abnegation  of  my  lower  self,  but  only  by 
the  afifirmation  of  my  higher  self.  And  consequently, 
so  far  from  restricting  my  freedom,  it  rather  posits 
freedom  as  a  reality  in  my  life,  because  it  frees  me 
as  a  rational  being  from  the  tyranny  of  those  non- 
rational  forces  which  are  organized  in  my  individual 
human  nature. 


1.!^ 


«     •' 


if 


I  N'CKkTAIXTV    OF    SPKCULATIVK   TIIEOKIKS.        235 


CHAPTER    III. 


UNCERTAIXTV    OF    Sl'ECULATl  VF    MORAL    THEORIES. 

Ix  the  next  Part  of  this  Book,  wc  arc  to  inquire 
into  the  special  duties  of  the  moral  life.  Now,  in 
such  an  inquiry  it  might  seem  as  if  we  should  be 
wholly  at  a  loss  from  the  uncertainty  of  the  general 
principle  upon  which  all  duties  arc  founded.  It  may 
therefore  be  worth  while  to  consider  this  difficulty 
before  we  enter  upon  our  inquiry.  Is  it  then  abso- 
lutely indispensable  that  we  should  solve  the  ultimate 
speculative  problem  with  regard  to  the  general  prin- 
ciple of  duty  before  we  can  determine  its  specific 
practical  rules  ? 

To  answer  this  question,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind, 
that  speculative  uncertainty,  with  regard  to  the  ulti- 
mate principles  of  science,  is  not  a  feature  of  Ethics 
alone.  Other  sciences  have  approached  complete- 
ness in  the  systematic  elaboration  of  specific  truths, 
though  almost  as  far  as  ever  from  a  solution  of  the 
philosophical  problem  in  reference  to  the  ultimate 
concepts  which  lie  at  their  foundation.  That  is  the 
case  with  regard  to  the  science  of  Geometry,  whose 
elaborate  structure  is  often  taken  as  the  very  model 
of  scientific  exactness  ;  for  philosophical  speculation 
is  still  at  sea  in  regard  to  the  real  nature  of  space 
and  the  ultimate  foundati(Mi  of  the  other  ideas  which 


il* 


'  I 


ul! 


!>!' 


U' 


236 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO  ETHICS. 


M 


form  the  data  of  the  science.  In  like  manner,  while 
Biology  is  every  year  throwing  new  light  upon  the 
specific  laws  of  life  in  animal  and  plant,  it  still  stands, 
as  of  old,  in  baffled  wonder  before  the  impenetrable 
mystery  of  life  itself.  And  every  branch  of  science 
dealing  with  the  forces  of  the  material  world,  though 
it  may  be  not  unreasonably  exultant  over  its  suc- 
cesses in  the  discovery  of  particular  truths,  yet  finds, 
whenever  it  leaves  the  work  of  a  special  science,  that 
no  instr  ments  in  its  hands  can  hcl[")  it  to  wring  from 
nature  the  ultimate  secret  of  force  and  matter.^  As- 
suredly the  ultimate  ideas  of  l^^thics  are  in  •»  greater 
uncertainty  than  those  of  the  other  sciences. 

It  must  also  be  borne  in  mind,  that  all  the  specu- 
lative theories  of  Ethics  must,  to  some  extent,  coin- 
cide in  their  practical  applications.  The  fact  is,  that 
in  Ethics,  as  in  other  practical  sciences,  practice  has 
preceded  theory.  As  men  must  have  made  numeri- 
cal calculations  for  ages  before  there  was  any  science 
of  Arithmetic  or  Algebra,  as  they  must  have  learned 
to  form  numberless  mechanical  contrivances  and  chem- 
ical combinations  before  constructing  any  scientific 
theories  of  Mechanics  or  Chemistry,  so  innumerable 
deeds  of  a  more  or  less  noble  morality  were  done 
before  any  attempt  was  made  to  comprehend  the  na- 
ture of  moral  actions.  Moral  theories  must,  there- 
fore, be  viewed,  in  the  first  instance  at  least,  as 
merely  speculative  efforts  to  give  an  explanation  of 

1  "  Mysterious,  in  lii^lit  of  day, 

Nature  will  not  unveil  herself  to  view, 

And  that  which  to  thy  spirit  she  may  not  display 

Thou  wilt  not  wring  from  her  with  lever  and  with  screw." 

Goethe,  Faust. 


UNCERTAIXTV    OF   SPECULATIVE   THEORIES. 


^17 


the  actual  moral  practice  of  men.  It  is  on  this  ac- 
count that  all  moral  theories,  even  the  most  inade- 
quate, contain  some  element  of  truth. 

It  may  be  added  that  the  Epicurean  theory,  in  the 
form  of  Utilitarianism  at  least,  shows  at  times  a 
startling  affinity  with  Stoicism  in  its  practical  fea 
tures  ;  and  therefore  not  a  few  Utilitarians,  such  as 
Epicurus  himself,  have  approached  a  Stoical  sim- 
plicity and  elevation  in  their  moral  character.  The 
truth  is,  that  the  difference  between  Epicureanism 
and  Stoicism  is  apt  to  be  felt  more  in  reference  to 
the  doctrines  with  which  each  is  supposed  to  be  logi- 
cally connected,  than  in  reference  to  the  two  theories 
themselves.  Eor  it  is  obvious  that  our  conception 
of  morality  must  to  a  large  extent  determine,  and  be 
determined  by,  our  conceptions  of  man's  nature,  of 
his  origin  and  destiny,  of  his  whole  position  in  the 
universe.  Now,  Epicurean  theories  require  above  all 
things  that  morality  shall  secure  to  man  pleasure  ; 
and  therefore  they  tend  necessarily  to  view  his  ca- 
pacity of  pleasure  and  pain  —  his  sensibility  —  as  the 
essential  part  of  his  nature.  It  is  this  that  associates 
Utilitarianism  with  Empiricism  in  Psychology,  that  is, 
with  the  theory  which  explains  man's  whole  mental 
life,  like  his  morality,  as  a  mere  product  of  sensa- 
tion. As  it  is  his  sensibility  which  connects  man 
with  the  lower  animals,  such  a  theory  of  his  mental 
life  naturally  tends  to  view  him  as  merely  the  highest 
development  of  animal  organization  on  our  planet. 
This  view  of  man's  origin  tends  to  a  corresponding 
view  of  his  destiny  ;  for  if  the  life  of  the  human 
soul  is  derived  wholly  from  sensibility,  there  can  be 


4 


W 


1  .    i 

i 

. 

■ 

\ 

I       : 

1 

1 

,    1 

\ 

ilil 


h 


•i  ■   :(• 


m 


23'S 


AN    INTRODUCTIOX   TO  KTIIICS. 


•    • 


no  ground  for  expecting  a  supersensible  life  in  the 
future.  It  is  but  clue,  however,  to  Utilitarianism  to 
remember  that  many  of  its  adherents  refuse  to  lower, 
on  this  account,  the  demands  of  a  disinterested 
morality,  and  plead,  with  almost  religious  earnestness, 
tlie  sufficiency  of  that  immortality  which  consists  in 
the  undying  influence  of  the  good  man's  life  on  the 
happiness  of  future  generations. ^ 

On  the  other  hand.  Stoicism  demands  above  all 
things  that  the  conduct  of  life  shall  be  directed  by 
reason,  and  finds  therefore  in  reason,  rather  than  in 
sensibility,  the  essential  nature  of  man.  Accordingly 
it  is  natural  for  the  Stoic  to  see  in  reason  a  power 
superior  to  mere  sensation,  and  incapable  of  being 
derived  from  it  by  any  conceivable  process  :  a  power 
which  connects  man  with  a  supersensible  sphere, 
brings  him  into  communion  with  the  Eternal  Spirit 
of  the  universe,  and  opens  up  an  outlook  into  a  life 
independent  of  bodily  sense. 

Apart  from  these  logical  implications  of  Epicure- 
anism and  Stoicism,  the  respective  tendencies  of  the 
two  theories  will  not  be  found  in  reality  so  irrecon- 
cilable as  they  appear.  It  is  not  of  course  to  be 
understood  that  the  realities  of  the  moral  life  may 
not  be  proved  to  be  absolutely  incompatible  with  one 
of  the  theories,  so  that  the  interests  of  morality  will 
be  enlisted  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the  other. 
But  our  inquiry  into  the  special  duties  of  human  life 
will  often  show  that  we  can  appeal  with  equal  appro- 
priateness to  the  Utilitarian  or  the  Stoical  ideal  as 

1  To  this  pleading  the  most  puetical  expression  lias  been  given  in  a  lyric 
of  George  Eliot's,  "  O  may  I  join  tlie  choir  invisible  !  " 


ire- 

the 

on- 

bc 

[lay 

inc 

ivill 

■cr. 

ife 

|ro- 

as 


UNCERTAINTY    OF   SPKCUI-ATIVK   THEOKIKS.        239 

our  guide.  Indeed,  the  common  sense  of  mankind 
generally  leads  them,  as  by  a  sort  of  moral  instinct, 
L()  a  standard  of  mo.  ';.)  which  can  be  made  to  fit 
into  either  ideal.  In  common  life,  when  any  question 
arises  with  regard  to  the  rightness  or  wrongness  of 
particular  rules  or  actions,  though  there  may  be  no 
thought  of  supi)orting  one  theory  more  than  another, 
almost  uniformly  the  decision  is  guided  by  reference 
to  an  universal  standard.  Is  the  action  or  the  rule 
one  which  could  be  demanded  of  others,  of  men  in 
general  ?  This  query,  sometimes  in  the  pointetl  form 
of  an  ari^uDiLiitinii  ad  /iouiincni,  indicates  the  direc- 
tion which  discussion  almost  invariably  takes.  Such 
a  direction  is  given  to  the  moral  consciousness  by  its 
essential  function,  fo.  ""Iiat  function  is  simply  one 
phase  of  the  general  function  of  reason.  When  rea- 
son tests  the  validity  of  any  jiarticular  proposition, 
whether  speculative  or  practical,  it  appeals  to  some 
universal  princii)le  in  which  the  particular  is  compre- 
hended ;  and  only  when  the  princijile  embodied  in 
the  particular  is  thus  shown  to  be  universally  valid, 
can  the  validity  of  the  particular  be  sustained.  The 
universality  of  its  principle  forms  the  reason  of  the 
particular.  As  this  reason  determines  the  truth  of  a 
speculative  proposition,  so  it  determines  the  rightness 
of  any  particular  action,  or  of  any  particular  rule  of 
conduct. 

The  employment  of  such  a  principle  in  moral  ques- 
tions, it  may  be  difficult  to  reconcile  with  any  Ego- 
istic theory.  But  it  is  only  due  to  Egoism  to 
acknowledge  that  even  it  has  a  certain  universalistic 
aspect.     Eor  no  Egoist  entertains  such  a  petty  con- 


i^i 


iH' 


\y 


\  i 


!       V' 
1,1* 

"  I, 


m 


240 


AN    INTRODUCTK^N   TO  ETHICS. 


ccption  of  the  Sovereign  Good  as  to  imagine  that  it 
can  l)e  found  in  tlie  pleasure  of  the  moment,  without 
reference  to  a  longer  happiness  that  takes  some 
account  of  life  on  the  whole.  lUit  certainly  Utili- 
tarianism will  not  refuse  to  accept  an  universal  stand- 
ard for  solving  the  practical  problems  of  the  moral 
life;  and  such  a  standard  is,  implicitly  or  explicitly, 
that  of  Stoicism  in  every  form. 


«  ♦' 


1^^  it, :»!! 


n  r  ■  ■-  <f-- 


PART  II. 


1 

I 

>, 
;  t 

1 

K 

Hi 

f\\ 


CLASSIFICATION    OF    MORAL     OBLIGATIONS. 


ti^ 


IIavixg  discussed  the  fundamental  problem  of 
Ethics  with  ix\L;ard  to  the  supreme  standard  of  moral 
obli^atit)n,  we  come  to  inquire  into  the  chief  forms 
of  obligation  which  arc  based  on  this  standard.  But 
to  guard  against  misunderstanding,  it  is  necessary  to 
explain  more  precisely  a  distinction  which  has  been 
referred  to  incidentally  already.  There  are  obliga- 
tions imposed  by  laws  of  human  enactment,  and  these 
have  been  described  as  essentially  different  from  the 
obligations  of  morality,  however  far  the  two  may  in 
some  respects  coincide.  We  have  now  to  define  with 
exactness  the  difference  between  moral  obligations 
and  those  that  are  simply  legal. 

To  understand  this  distinction  it  must  be  borne 
in  mind,  that  all  obligation  refers  to  voluntary  actions, 
that  is,  as  will  be  remembered,  actions  done  with  an 
intention.  Without  an  intention  —  an  intelligent 
motive  —  all  responsibility,  legal  and  moral  alike, 
would  of  course  cease.  lUit  while  the  obligations  of 
Law  assume  that  an  agent,  who  is  legally  responsible, 
is  capable  of  acting  from  some  motive,  they  are  in- 
different as  to  the  particular  motive  by  which  he  may 

241 


li- 


I  ■ 


fH 


\  ■  I 

I! 


;!? 


242 


AN    INTKoDlurioN'    If )    l/niK'S. 


Pi 


4       * 


m- 


be  actually  influenced.  Thus,  a  debtor  is  under  an 
obi  illation  to  pay  his  debts  ;  but  while  morality  de- 
mands that  the  payment  shall  be  made  from  a  ri<;ht 
motive,  Law  is  [)erfectly  satisfied  if  the  act  of  i)ay- 
ment  is  performed  from  any  motive  whatever.  It 
thus  aj^pears  that  the  obligations  of  Law,  thouy^h 
assumini;  the  existence  of  a  motive  in  the  responsi- 
ble a.L;'ent,  abstract  wholly  from  his  motive,  and  con- 
template his  action  merely  in  its  overt  manifestation. 

It  is  at  once  a  reason  antl  a  result  of  this  restriction 
of  leL;"al  oblii;ations,  that,  when  they  are  not  volunta- 
rily fulfilled,  they  can  be  enforced  by  external  com- 
pulsion ;  for,  while  it  would  be  in  the  highest  tlegree 
irrational  to  employ  external  force  for  the  purpose 
of  compelling  a  man  to  entertain  a  i)articular  motive 
in  an  action,  it  is  perfectly  rational,  because  perfectly 
possible,  to  compel  the  performance  of  the  action 
itself  as  an  overt  movement  without  reference  to  the 
agent's  state  of  mind.  The  action,  being  in  this 
limited  aspect  a  purely  physical  action,  can  be  en- 
forced by  the  application  of  an  adequate  physical 
agency. 

This  limitation  of  Law  to  the  external  aspect  of 
acti(Mi  is,  for  various  reasons,  of  the  highest  impor- 
tance to  the  well-being  of  society.  It  is,  in  the  first 
place,  indispensable  to  protect  society  from  any  at- 
tempt to  extend  legal  compulsion  into  a  sphere  in 
which  it  has  no  applicability,  — the  sphere  of  internal 
convictions  or  beliefs.  It  is  but  slowly  that  such 
attempts  have  been  abandoned  even  in  the  great 
civilizations  of  the  world.  Few  of  the  governments 
of  the  past  have  been  content  with  an  observance  of 


■->::/ 


ject  of 
impor- 
ic  first 
Iny  at- 
brc  in 
Itcrnal 
such 
o;rcat 
hicnts 
lice  of 


CI.ASSII  IC  A'l'IoN'    ol'    MOUAI,    (  ip,!  .K  ;  \  TIoNS. 


the  coinlitions  of  social  order;  nearly  all  have /T/'.vr- 
i'u/i(/  their  subjects,  that  is,  have  followed  them  be- 
yond the  reL;ion  of  blameless  conduct  into  that  sphere 
of  spiritual  life  in  which  legal  freedom  of  activity  is 
!iot  only  consistent  with,  but  absolutely  indispensable 
t.),  the  develoi)ment  of  the  hiL;hest  intellectual  and 
moral  welfare  of  society. 

Another  benefit  accruin;;-  from  this  restriction  of 
Law  is,  that  it  corrects  an  over-estimate  of  the  value 
of  leL;al  methods.  JudL;in;;-  actions  by  their  external 
aspect  or  effect,  not  by  their  internal  sprinj^  or  motive, 
Law  can  secure  but  a  rough  sort  of  justice  at  the 
best  ;  and  therefore  it  is  not  only  an  old  and  common 
experience  of  mankind,  but  a  fact  recognized  in  scien- 
tific Jurisprudence,  that  the  enforcement  of  a  law  in 
its  strictly  literal  meaning,  without  reference  to  its 
spiritual  intent,  may  at  times  give  rise  to  serious 
injustice.  "  Summum  jus  summa  injuria  "  is  referred 
to  by  Cicero  as,  in  his  time,  "jam  tritum  sermone 
proverbium  ; "  and  he  notices  the  technical  applica- 
tion of  caliiDUiia  in  Roman  Jurisprudence  to  denote 
"  nimis  callida  sed  malitiosa  juris  interpretatio."  ^  In 
order,  therefore,  to  prevent,  as  far  as  pc^ssible,  any 
injustice  that  might  arise  from  a  rigidly  literal  intcr- 

1  Dc  Oijiclts,  I.  10.  The  proverb,  with  only  a  slij^ht  alteration  to  suit  the 
vors(\  is  introduced,  a  century  earlier,  by  Terence  in  Hcaittontimoroumenos 
^Acl  i\'..  Scene  5)  as  a  familiar  trutli.  In  fact,  Terence  seems  to  be  merely 
tr.ui -laMiig  his  oiii^inal  into  Roman  form;  for  a  passa'.,'e  conveying  the  same 
srntimont  is  still  preserved  among  the  fragments  of  Menander.  Tlie  senti- 
ment had,  in  all  likelihood,  been  long  familiar  in  (Ircek  literature.  Aristotle 
devotes  a  chapter  {Eth.  Nic,  V.  10)  to  the  exposition  of  Equity  —  hniKnn  — 
.as  a  "correction  of  legal  justice;"  and  from,  a  remark  in  his  Rhetoric  (I.  i;), 
it  would  apjiear  that,  in  th,e  practice  of  .\thcni;in  courts,  the  appeal  to  princi- 
ples of  equity  against  st.itutory  law  was  allowed  a  latitude  which  would  have 
astonished  a  Roman  lawyer. 


ki 


H 


1  Iff 


<1 


II'  I 


ill 


<  •' 


244 


AN  ixTuonrcTiox  ro  i/rmcs. 


prct.'ilioii  of  L;i\v,  Jurisprudence  lias  invented  various 
artifices,  such  as  Courts  of  lupiity,  Legal  I'Mctions, 
and  the  I'rerogativc  of  Pardon. 

Le;;al  ol^liLcations  form  the  subject  of  a  separate 
science, — Jurisjjrudence.  This  science  necessarih 
runs  parallel  at  many  ])()ints  to  I"]thics  ;  but  in  tli  • 
latter  science  it  is  the  moral,  not  the  legal,  aspect  of 
obligations,  with  which  we  have  to  do.  We  are  in- 
quiring into  the  various  forms  of  the  obligation  to 
act  from  right  motivt,-.  with  a  view  to  right  ends. 
This  obligation,  as  already  explained,  points  to  a  gen- 
eral spirit  of  life  rather  than  to  specific  acts,  or  even 
to  very  specific  rules  of  action  :  and  this  also  differen- 
tiates the  obligations  of  moralitv  Irom  those  of  Law  ; 
for  legal  enactments  attain  their  end  in  proi)orti()n 
to  the  s|)ecific  strictness  with  which  they  are  able  to 
define  the  actions  enjoined  or  prohibited  by  Law. 

Moral  obligations  may  be  separated  into  two  main 
divisions,  on  a  principle  which  is  obviou-^dy  natural. 
The  largest  sphere  of  these  obligations  necessarily 
implies  a  direct  reference  to  other  persons,  but  there 
are  many  in  v/hich  no  such  reference  is  involved. 
Thus  the  obligation  of  a  debtor  to  pay  his  debts  has 
no  meaning  except  by  relation  to  the  creditor  to  whom 
the  debt  is  due:  the  obligation  to  cherish  gratitud.' 
towards  a  benefactor  obviously  implies  a  similar  rela- 
tion. Whenever  an  obligation  thus  by  its  very  nature 
involves  a  reference  to  some  other  member  of  society, 
it  may  appropriately  be  described  as  Social.  lUit 
many  obligations  do  not  of  necessity  carry  us  beyond 
the  individual  upon  whom  personally  they  devolve. 
Such  obligations  are,  therefore,  distinguishetl  as  Per- 


various 
ctions, 

jparatc 
issaril'.- 
in  tb 
poet  ol 
aro  iii- 
tion  to 
t  ends. 
)  a  lien- 
or even 
I  iff  ere  n- 
if   Law; 
)|)()rtion 
able  to 
yaw. 
o  main 
natural, 
essarily 
it  there 
volved. 
bts  has 
whom 
ratitutl  • 
ar  rela- 
naturc 
ociety, 
1.     Vn\t 
beyond 
evolve. 
as   Ter- 


(:I,.\SSIKIC.\'II(  t\    ol-    MoI^AI.   n|;i,l(,.\  rioN'"-..     2.\$ 

sonal  or  Individii  il.  It  is  not,  indeed,  to  be  supposed 
that  these  obi i.<;at ions  have  no  value  beyond  the  in- 
dividual. On  the  eontrary,  the  welfare  of  society  is 
profoundly  involved  in  their  fulfdment,  and  therefore 
every  individual  is  under  a  certain  oblij^ation  to  others 
to  cultivate  the  [lersonal  virtues.  ]k\t  these  virtues 
h  ive  an  oblii^ation  independent  of  social  relations. 
ICven  if  a  man  were  forced  to  live  in  perfect  solitude, 
exiled  from  all  human  intercourse,  he  would  still  be 
under  an  obligation  to  be  temperate  in  the  indulgence 
of  his  appetites.  There  is,  therefore,  an  essential 
distinction  between  the  two  classes  of  obligations. 

Hefore  passing  from  the  discussion  of  this  classifi- 
cation, it  may  be  observed,  that  in  i)()pular  and  j)rac- 
tical  treatises  on  Morals,  a  third  class  of  obligations 
is  sometimes  recognized  under  the  title  of  Duties  to 
God.  But  it  must  be  observed  that  this  classifica- 
tion, however  useful  for  popular  exposition,  is  wholly 
unscientific.  Obligations  which  can  be  described  as 
in  reality  Duties  to  God,  cannot  be  degraded  to  co- 
ordinate rank  with  13uties  to  Ourselves  and  Duties 
to  Others.  In  His  moral  relation  to  us,  (^od  must 
be  conceived  as  the  Supreme  Moral  Authority  in  the 
universe;  and  Duty  to  Him,  as  the  universal  obliga- 
tion, comprehending  under  it  as  special  forms  our  jxir- 
ticular  obligations  to  ourselves  and  our  fellow-men. 
It  is  therefore  well  said,  that  the  primary  command- 
ment—  i]  :iou)Hj  ifToli]  —  is  to  love  God  with  all  the 
heart  and  soul  and  mind  ;  while  the  commandment 
to  love  our  neighbor  and  ourselves  equally  is  second- 
ary,—  dcvii'o«,  —  that  is,  subordinate  to  the  first.  In 
fact,  the  so-called   Duties  to  God  are  not  in  reality 


1'^ 


[U 


24^) 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


^^■1 


^i 


I  > 


jiil 


'Ml- 


pl'j 


(ililii^^ations  to  do  anything  to  God  in  the  same  sense 
in  which  other  obligations  are  spoken  of  as  Duties 
to  ourselves  or  to  our  fellow-men.  As  commonly 
understood,  they  are  simply  obligations  to  employ 
those  methods  of  self-culture  which  arc  often  in  reli- 
gious language  spoken  of  as  "means  of  grace  ;"  and 
therefore  they  take  their  proper  place  among  personal 
duties. 

A  similar  remark  may  be  made  in  reference  to 
another  class  of  obligations,  which  are  sometimes, 
for  popular  and  practical  pur[)()ses,  separated  from 
the  classes  already  mentioned,  —  Duties  to  the  Lower 
Animals.  As  the  Supreme  Being  is  infinitely  re- 
moved in  moral  authority  from  all  His  finite  crea- 
tures, and  duties  to  Ilim  can  therefore  never  be 
placed  on  the  same  footing  of  moral  obligation  willi 
duties  to  t("i.;m  ;  so,  the  mere  animal  being  destitute 
of  the  essential  factors  of  moral  jiersonality,  duties 
t  it  can  never  be  elevated  to  the  same  rank  with 
the  duties  which  one  moral  being  owes  to  another. 
It  will  appear,  however,  in  the  sequel,  that  tlie  moral 
culture  of  man  has  in  some  pliases  been  closely  asso- 
ciated with  his  relations  to  the  lower  animals  ;  and 
consequently,  for  his  own  culture  at  least,  if  for  no 
other  reason,  he  is  under  certain  obligations  which 
have  reference  to  them. 

This  Part  of  our  subject  will  thus  naturally  divide 
into  two  chapters,  corresponding  to  the  two  classes 
of  obligations. 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


247 


idividc 
tkisscs 


ClIAPTKR    I. 


SOCIAL    DUTIES. 


Till".  siil)(livision  of  Social  Duties  has  formed  the 
ground  ot  some  controversy  ;  but  there  is  amoni; 
them  a  difference  which  can  l)e  made  sufficiently 
clear.  For  some  of  them  are,  in  all  their  features, 
characterized  by  a  definiteness  which  is  entirely 
a-wanting  in  others.  They  point  to  a  definite  action 
which  is  to  be  done,  and  to  a  definite  person  or  to 
definite  persons  as  having  a  right  to  claim  the  per- 
formance of  the  obligatory  action.  Such,  for  ex- 
ample, are  the  obligations  of  a  contract.  From  its 
very  nature  a  contract  im})lies  two  persons,  one  of 
whom  gives,  while  the  other  accepts,  a  promise.  By 
this  double  act  the  prcMiiiser  comes  under  an  obli- 
gation to  perform  the  i)recise  act  which  has  been 
described  in  his  promise,  while  the  promisee  acquires 
a  right  to  demand  the  performance  of  that  act. 

The  same  definiteness,  however,  cannot  be  at- 
tached to  some  other  social  duties.  Thus,  if  I  have 
a  superabundance  of  the  world's  goods,  I  come  under 
an  obligation  to  give  liberally  out  of  my  superabun- 
dance for  the  relief  of  those  who  are  in  want,  as  well 
as  for  the  benefit  of  my  fellow-men  in  other  ways. 
But   this  obligation  of  liberality  does  not  admit   of 


I  i 


I  i< 


248 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO  ETHICS. 


'  ■  ?    i " 


'!        f,: 


being  defined  by  specific  acts  due  to  particular  per- 
sons, nor  can  any  definite  persons  be  pointed  out  as 
having  a  right  to  claim  from  me  liberal  gifts  of  a 
precise  kind  or  value. 

The  most  appropriate  language  in  which  this  dis- 
tinction is  expressed  is  that  which  describes  certain 
social  duties  as  dctciminatc,  and  others  as  indcttr- 
jniuatc.  In  more  popular  phrase  the  former  are 
spoken  of  as  Duties  of  Justice,  the  latter  as  Duties 
of  Benevolence. 

The  language,  in  which  this  distinction  has  been 
expressed,  is  not,  however,  always  unexceptionable  ; 
anil  with  reason  exception  may  be  taken  especially 
against  the  terms  Perfect  and  Imperfect,  by  which 
the  obligations  of  Justice  and  Benevolence  have  been 
often  distinguished.  It  is  now  a  matter  mainly  of 
historical  interest  to  examine  the  various  senses 
which  have  been  attached  to  these  terms  in  the 
literature  of  ICthics  and  Jurisprudence.^  Within  the 
province  of  the  latter  science  the  distinction  may  in- 
deed be  applied  with  an  intelligible  meaning.  Under 
the  laws  of  every  country  there  are  obligations  which 
are  enforceable  by  legal  i)r()cess,  while  there  is  always 
a  large  sphere  of  the  moral  life  which  is  left  to  be 
regulated  entirely  by  indivickud  conviction.  It  is 
also  competent  for  scientific  Jurisprudence  to  deter- 
mine in  general  wliLit  obligations  it  is  possible  or 
desirable  to  enforce  under  any  circumstances  by 
methods    of    legal    compulsion.      From    the   jurist's 

I  Tlie   Englisli  stiidciit  will   liml  \\  critical  liistuiy  of   the  clislinctiiiii   in 
Lorimer's  Institutes  0/ Law,  Douk  I,  tlLiptLT  xi. 


th 


o 


ly  m- 
'nder 
/hich 

Iways 


.(.)  Di, 


It 


IS 


Icter- 
ic or 
by 
•ist's 


iKII)     III 


SOCIAL  DUTIES. 


249 


point  of  view  those  obliL^atioiis  which  can  be  en- 
forced at  law  may  with  a  certain  tle;j,ree  of  pr()[)riety 
be  distinguished  as  pivfcct,  wliile  those  wliich  law 
cannot  or  does  not  enforce  may  by  contrast  be  spoken 
of  as  iinpcrfccL  lUit  it  is  ol)\  ious  ihat  the  distinction, 
as  thus  interpreted,  has  no  meanini;-  except  in  refer- 
ence to  the  kj^al  aspect  of  oblii^'ations.  To  the 
moralist,  on  the  other  hanil,  such  a  distinction  \an- 
ishes.  From  his  point  of  view  all  oblij^ation  is  un- 
conditional :  to  do  what  the  moral  law  commands, 
every  man  is  absolutely  bound.  All  moral  obliL;"ation 
is  therefore  i)erfect  ;  an  imperfect  obligation  is  in 
morality  inconceivable. 

Among  Catholic  moralists  a  distinction  has  been 
introducetl  even  into  the  region  of  purely  moral  obli- 
gations, which  seems  to  recognize  a  certain  difference 
in  their  perfection.  0\er  and  above  the  universal 
duties  of  human  life,  which  devoh'e  upon  all  men,  it 
is  contended  that  there  are  other  actions  which  are 
described  in  scholastic  language  as  r'/wv?' .v/z/r/v/v^^^^'wA^ 
actions  that  are  supererogator\-,  or,  as  we  might  say, 
su[)er()bligatory.  The  question  raised  b}'  this  distinc- 
tion, however,  is    in   strictness  not  ethical,  but   tluo- 


lou'ic; 


It 


IS  mam 


tained  that   men  who,  in   addition 


to  the  common  duties  of  life,  perform  works  of  sui)er- 
ert)gation,  acquire  thereby  a  certain  merit  by  the 
grace  of  God,  and  that  this  merit  of  saintly  men  accu- 
mulates a  treasure  of  spiritual  foi-ce,  upon  v.'hieh  nun 


o 


f   1 


ess  sam 


tly  ch; 


iractcr  mav  draw,  in   order  to   win 


divine  favor.  This  theological  dogma  does  not,  of 
course,  call  for  tliscussion  here  ;  and  a])art  Irom 
this  tiogma,  the  recognition  of  supererogator}'  acticMis 


I 


,  • 


I    II. 


m 


flH 

ii'i  i 

V  i 

^  ^iBi'^^ 

I  ■ 

J    i  .,  llr  1  .  f 

1, 

''     ■-;.,    . 

1 

!  Ml 

250 


AS  i.\  rR(>i)i,i:'ii().\    lo  i:iiii(S. 


lias    no   significance   of   any   special    interest   to   the 
moralist. - 

Tile  only  available  distinction,  then,  which  can  be 
used  loi-  a  scientific  classification  of  our  social  duties, 
is  that  which  separates  the  Duties  of  Justice  from 
those  of  JJenevolence,  on  the  ground  that  the  former 
are  capable  of  being  determined  with  a  defmiteness 
which  does  not  characterize  the  latter.  lUit  this  must 
not  be  understood  as  if  the  obliiration  in  one  case  were 
less  absolute  than  in  the  other.  It  is  tiaie,  that  some- 
times in  popular  thought,  we  recognize  a  j)rioi'ity  in 
the  claims  of  determinate  duties  over  those  of  the 
iiKleterminate.  Men,  it  is  said,  ought  to  be  just  be- 
fore they  are  generous.  IVat  this  proverb  does  not 
mean  that  there  is  an\'  more  perfect  obligation  in  jus- 
tice than  in  generosity  ;  it  im[)lies  merely  that  any 
claim  to  the  larger  virtue  of  generosity  must  be  a 
mere  pretence  as  long  as  the  narrower  virtue,  which 
it  includes,  is  practically  ignored.  I^'or  bare  justie 
is  not  the  highest  reach  of  m  )ral  character;  it  is,  as 
T.  11.  Fichte  has  [)ithily  put  it,  "the  minimum  of  the 
moral  will."''^  l^^or  love  will  always  include  justice, 
but  justice  will  not,  of  necessity,  be  accompanied  by 
love.  It  was  theru'fore  finely  said  by  Aristotle,  thai 
when  men  are  friends  there  is  no  need  of  justice;-' 
and  it  is  the  glory  of  Christian  I'Ahics,  tliat  they 
make  love  the  creative  principle  of  the  moral  lile,  out 

'  Tlie  subjoct  of  0/0 a  sit/rrt-roiiafir  —  coiisiliij  /"tiiii^'r/itti  or  lOiisiHii  /■:'>'• 
fcction'is  —  receives  a  pretty  full  treatment,  in  its  more  purciv  etliic.il  asiuct, 
in  Dorner's  Christian  F.th'us.  pp.  .^ov  ji;,  ( I':iii,'li.-.h  ed.).  It  is  more  brietly 
touclicd  in  Martonson's  C/irisfiiui  I'.lli'us,  §  137. 

•'-  S\^;cw  ih-y  l-tlitk.  \\\.  II.  p.  263. 

:i  Eth.  A'/,.,  \ll!.  1,  5. 


SOCIAL    Dl   TIKS. 


the 


251 

Love  is 


oi  which  all   virtiu",  of  necessity,  grows, 
the  fulfillinL;"  of  the  law."  ^ 

This  chapter  naturally  separates  into  two  sections, 
correspondinL^"  to  the  two  divisions  of  Social  Duty. 

§  I.  Dcttrniinatc  Dntirs,  or  Ditties  of  Justice. 

In  the  treatment  of  justice,  lahics  and  Jurispru- 
dence run  i)arallel  at  many  points.  The  two  sciences, 
however,  approach  the  ()l)liL;ations  of  justice  from 
entirely  different  points  of  view.  As  will  he  under- 
stood from  [previous  remai'ks.  Law  is  satisfied  if  the 
external  actions  which  justice  demands  are  performed 
from  any  motive  whatever  ;  but  morality  insists  that, 
while  the  external  action  shall  be  such  as  justice  de- 
mands, it  shall  at  the  same  time  be  done  from  a  ri^ht 
motive.  This  recjuirement  of  morality  is  very  often 
e.\i)resse(l  by  sayini;  that  it  claims  obedience,  not  to 
the  mere  letter,  but  also  to  the  spirit,  of  the  moral 
law.  It  is  only  by  taking  up  the  requirements  of 
morality  in  their  genuine  spirit,  that  they  can  be  ful- 
filled in  truth  ;  and  it  is  a  familiar  experience,  that  a 
strict  external  observance  of  these  requirements,  as 
literally  interpreted,  may  be  combined  with  an  inter- 
nal corruption  which  has  eaten  into  the  very  core  of 
the  moral  life.  In  fact,  it  is  precisely  the  delusive 
satisfaction  with  an  external  legality  of  conduct,  that 
tends  to  corrupt  the  vital  spirit  of  morality.  Infin- 
itely significant,  therefore,  is  the  saying,  that  '*  the 
letter  killeth,  but  the  spirit  giveth  life."  The  moral 
tone  of  society  has  in  all  ages  been  lowered  by  the 
tendency  of  men  to  satisfy  themselves  with  the  mere 

1  Koiu.  \iii.  10. 


M|i 


I     : 


«     * 


•  ti 


1  '  i'B 


m 


in 

11 


V  < 


!? 


;  I 


252 


AN   LXTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


letter  of  their  social  obligations  ;  and  there  is  no 
sphere  of  the  moral  life  in  whicli  this  tendency  is  so 
powerful  as  that  in  which  the  obligations  of  Law 
correspond  with  those  of  morality.  Here  the  exter- 
nal observance  of  social  obligations,  according  to  the 
barest  interpretation  of  their  letter,  brings  such  con- 
spicuous proof  of  their  being  fulfilled  to  the  complete 
satisfaction  of  the  highest  social  authority,  that  it 
requires  a  certain  degree  of  moral  culture  to  realize 
that  anything  more  is  required.  It  will  appear,  as  we 
proceed,  that  early  stages  of  morality  have  been  even 
elaborately  punctilious  about  the  external  forms  of 
many  simple  social  requirements,  while  moral  and 
even  legal  improvement  has  commonly  tended  to- 
wards a  simplification  or  depreciation,  if  not  even  a 
complete  abandonment,  of  these  forms,  in  order  to 
afford  a  freer  play  to  the  spirit  of  justice,  to  which 
they  give  but  an  imperfect  and  temporary  embodi- 
ment. Accordingly  it  has  been  the  function  of  the 
moral  and  religious  reformer  in  all  ages  to  elevate 
the  moral  consciousness  above  the  narrow  require- 
ments of  legal  forms  to  the  catholic  standard  of  a 
spiritual  morality.  An  illustrious  example  of  this  is 
afforded  by  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 

Bearing  in  mind,  then,  that  the  obligations  of  jus- 
tice refer  to  the  spirit  in  which  a  man  acts  towards 
his  fellows,  we  proceed  to  inquire  what  are  the  obli- 
gations which  this  spirit  imposes.  In  the  obligations 
of  justice,  it  has  been  observed,  there  is  always  a 
determinate  action  prescribed  as  due  to  a  determin- 
ate person  or  persons  ;  and  there  is  therefore,  also, 
a  right,  on   the  part  of  the  person  or  persons  con- 


m 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


253 


a 
is 

us- 

■CIS 

)li- 

ns 
a 
in- 
|so, 
»n- 


ccrncd,  to  dcniand  the  performance  of  the  prescribed 
action.  In  the  reciuirements  of  justice  there  is  thus 
always  an  obli^'ation  on  the  one  side,  ini})lyin_>;  a  cor- 
respontlent  rip,ht  on  the  other  ;  oHii^ation  and  rij^/it 
become,  in  this  si)]iere  of  duty,  correlative  terms. 

It  has  been  contended  that  this  correlation  of  obli- 
<;ation  and  riL;ht  should  not  be  confmed  to  the  prov- 
ince of  justice,  but  should  be  made  coextensive  with 
all  social  morality.  In  the  sphere  of  benevolence, 
we  have  seen,  th^'re  are  obliL;'ati<)iis  widch  are  as 
absolute  as  thos(.'  of  justice,  th()Ui;"h  they  cannot  be 
defined  with  the  same  determinate  exactness.  In 
like  manner,  some  have  ur;4ed,  those  who  are  tlie  fit 
objects  of  benevolence  have  a  ri_L;"]it  to  elaim  such 
benevolence,  thoui;h  their  rip;ht  cannot  be  exactly 
tletermined  as  pointing;-  to  any  definite  person  who  is 
recpiired  to  perform  any  definite  act.  Whether  this 
is  a  leL;itimate  or  desirable  extension  '.f  the  si)herc 
of  rights,  is  a  c[uestion  which  need  not  be  discussed 
here  ;  it  is  perhaps,  after  all,  merely  a  cpiestion  about 
the  exact  definition  of  the  term.  For  all  practical 
purposes,  as  well  as  for  the  exact  treatment  of  sci- 
ence, rights  must  be  limited  to  those  claims  which 
are  cc^Telated  to  the  determinate  obligations  of  jus- 
tice ;  and  undoubtedly  a  great  deal  of  idle  declama- 
tion with  rev;ard  to  tho  rights  of  man  would  have 
been  avoided  if  the  plirase  had  been  restricted  to 
those  claims  which  admit  of  being  precisely  defined. 

Accordinglv  it  is  common  to  treat  the  obligations 
of  justice  in  connection  with  the  rights  to  which  they 
correspond  ;  and  therefore  some  consideration  of  the 
subject  of  rights  is  demanded  here.     A  right  may  be 


;iii 


•I 


M 


'  i    i  * 


254 


A\  IN  TKoDrcTiox  'I'o  iri'inrs. 


bticlly  (If fined  as  a  claim  which  is  rij;ht,  tliat  is,  a 
claim  which  accoids  with  the  standard  of  riLfhtncss 
in  conduct.  Or,  to  put  it  in  other  words,  a  ri<;ht  is 
a  claim  which  is  essential  to  the  Sovereij^n  Good  of 
men,  that  <;ood  beini;  of  coui^se  defined  by  different 
writers,  now  from  a  Stoical,  now  from  an  Utilitarian, 
point  of  view.  Any  other  claim  is  characterized  as 
a  mere  prctoisioiL 

All  i)articiilar  riL;-hts  are  merely  modifications  of  an 
universal  and  fundamental  ri_L;ht,  which  is  the  source 
of  all  the  obi  illations  of  justice.  In  the  manifold  rela- 
tions with  his  fellows,  into  which  every  man  is  thrown 
by  the  very  necessities  of  existence,  there  is  an  obvi- 
ous claim  of  justice  which  is  based  on  his  essential 
nature.  ICvery  man  is  essentially  an  intellii^ent 
moral  beini;-,  —  a  ptisoji ;  and  there  can  be  no  rea- 
sonable intercourse  between  men,  unless  each  is 
treated  as  a  man.  The  primary  right,  therefore,  of 
every  man  is  the  right  to  demand  that,  in  their  inter- 
course with  him,  his  fellow-men  shall  act  with  a  rea- 
sonable regard  for  his  personality,  for  his  essential 
nature  as  an  intelligent  moral  being. 

The  various  forms  in  which  this  i^rimary  right  has 
been  defined,  will  be  found  on  examination  to  coin- 
>i(le  in  their  essential  drift  with  this  explanation, 
riuis,  for  example,  it  has  been  common  with  a  cer- 
tain class  of  writers  influenced  by  Hegel, ^  to  defnie 
the  fundamental  right  as  the  right  of  freedom  ;  but 
this  is  explained  as  meaning,  not  a  man's  right  to 
indulge  the  irregular  passions  that  wo?'k  in  him  as  a 
particular  proiluct  of  nature,  but  the   right  to  act  in 


1  ."^cc  Hc-^cl's  Philosopliic  dcs  KcJiii,  §§  29,  30. 


SOCIAL    Dl'TIKS. 


^55 


i)in- 
lon. 
XT- 
lino 
Init 

to 
a 

in 


accordance  with  that  universal  reason  which  forms 
tile  distinctive  attribute  ol"  liis  luunanity.  Sucli  a 
ri!;ht  of  course  implies  tluit  a  man  may  justly  rei)el 
any  invasion  of  his  freedom  which  would  heat  him 
as  if  he  were  not  an  i  olli,:^"ent  moral  personality. 
Accordingly  with  some  writers  the  ^irimitive  ri;;ht, 
which  f<M-ms  the  ori-in  of  all  others,  is  the  riL;ht  of 
self-defence.  This  phrase  must  not  of  course  be  un- 
tlerstootl  in  the  vul-ar  meanini;"  which  it  is  a|)t  to 
su<;j;est  to  the  l"aiL;iish  minil,  as  the  ri-ht  of  throw- 
ing; one's  self  into  a  i)U_L;ilistic  attitude  whenever  one 
is  made  the  object  of  a  bodily  assault,  l-lven  this 
vulir  idea  throws  us  bad-:  on  a  nobler  conception, 
in  wi.ic  the  universal  ri_L;ht  of  solf-tlefence  becomes 
the  -"iL;ht  of  every  man  to  act  in  his  own  i)erson,  and 
to  (K-mand  that  he  shall  be  treated  by  others,  as  a 
Si-/J\  —  as  a  person,  and  not  as  a  mere  t/iiiiiiov  iliattil : 
a  an  cud  to  himself,  and  not  as  a  mere  )iuans  to 
the  ends  of  other  persons. 

RiL;-hts  have  been  divided  from  \'arious  points  of 
view,  and  the  classifications  thus  originated  are  so 
diver^'cnt,  that  the  discussion  of  them  in  an  element- 
ary text-book  would  simply  create  useless  perplexity 
to  the  student.  One  of  the  most  ancient  and  famil- 
iar of  these  classifications,  datirii;-  from  the  distinc- 
tions of  Roman  Law,  separates  human  ri»;hts  into 
two  divisions  by  the  names  of /(V.vrv/^?/ and  veal.  The 
former  comprehends  all  those  rights  which  beh)ni;  to 
•c\.  person  considered  purely  as  a  pers(Mi,  while  the 
other  refers  to  those  thin<;s  which  are  of  course  out- 
side of  his  i)ersonality,  but  over  which  he  holds  some 
claim  in  justice. 


li 


liii 


256 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO  KTUICS. 


% 


m 

m  I 


Oil  this  classification  an  obvious  criticism  may  be 
made.  Its  two  divisions  arc  not  to  be  considered 
strictly  of  ecjual  rank,  as  co-ordinate  species  of  the 
same  p^enus ;  for  i)roperly  the  personal  ri^^dits  are 
simply  the  various  forms  of  that  primordial  riL;"ht 
which  has  been  described  as  inherently  attaching;  to 
jjcrsonality.  All  rii;hts  must  be  considered  as  in  a 
certain  sense  personal.  Real  rights  can  belon*^  only 
to  a  i)erson,  and  only  in  virtue  of  his  personality; 
they  are  the  ri:4hts  which  a  person  acquires  over 
thinL;s  by  the  power,  which  he  as  a  person  possesses, 
of  adapting  them  to  the  uses  of  intelligent  moral 
existence.  It  will  therefore  appear  in  the  sequel, 
that  it  is  im[)()ssil)le  to  se|)arate  real  from  personal 
rights  by  a  sharp  line  of  demarcation.  For  person- 
ality is  not  to  be  viewetl  in  its  abstract  subjectivity. 
As  already  e.\i)lained,  the  intelligent  moral  subject 
supposes  an  objective  world  to  be  comprehended  and 
modified  by  his  activity, — a  world  of  other  ])ersons 
as  well  as  of  things.  And  therefore  personal  rights 
are  realized  only  in  an  objective  world,  while  things 
are  objects  of  right  only  when  related  to  persons. 

Still  in  other  departnients  of  inquiry,  as  well  as 
here,  the  classifications  of  science  are  apt  to  impart 
a  stereotyped  stiffness  to  the  distinctions  of  nature, 
which  does  not  belong  to  them  in  reality  ;  and  ac- 
cordingly, with  the  above  explanations,  it  will  be 
found  convenient  to  adhere  to  the  old  classification 
of  rights  for  the  purpose  of  expounch'ng  the  various 
requirements  of  justice.  It  may  be  added  that  the 
terms  on'^^iiia/,  )iat:iral,  inaUcunbIc,  often  applied  to 
one  class  of  rights,  and  the  terms  acquired,  artificial, 


arc 


lings 
s. 

11  as 
ipart 
turc, 
1  ac- 
I  bo 
lion 
iniis 
the 
:(1  to 
Icial, 


SOriAI.    Dl'TIKS. 


257 


fraiisfmrhh',  applied  to  anotlier,  are  to  he  considered 
as,  in  their  essential  meaning,  merely  tlcscriptions  of 
personal  and  real  rights. 

Subsection  I.  —  Ohli^j^ations  of  Justice  Arisiui^from 
Personal  Ai^/its. 

As  a  concrete  being,  that  is,  in  reality,  man  is 
primarily  a  member  of  society.  It  is  only  by  a  cer- 
tain abstraction  th:it  he  becomes  an  individual,  and 
acts  as  an  individual  in  self-determined  relations  with 
others.  y\11  the  light  which  research  has  been  able 
to  throw  ui")on  the  primitive  condition  of  mankind, 
tends  to  i)r()ve,  that,  in  their  earliest  moral  and  jural 
relations,  they  were  conceived  not  as  individuals 
dealing  with  each  other,  but  as  groups  acting  collec- 
tively with  more  or  less  solidarity.  Consecpiently  in 
scientific  treatment  there  is  a  natural  justification  of 
the  method  which  takes  up  the  moral  relations  of 
men  to  the  social  groups  witli  which  they  are  essen- 
tially connected,  b^'fore  proceeding  to  those  which 
arise  from  the  mutual  intercourse  of  individuals. 

(i.)    Oin.icATioNs  OF  Justice  'io  Socif.ty. 

In  order  to  understand  these  obligations,  it  is  of 
course  necessarv  to  consider  the  nature  of  the  socie- 
ties  that  men  form.  ICvery  society  is  a  kind  of 
combination,  that  is,  a  state  of  things  in  which  indi- 
viduals are  conceived,  not  in  their  abstract  individu- 
ality, but  in  their  concrete  relations,  active  or  passive, 
to  one  another.  Accordingly  all  sorts  of  combina- 
tions of  a  simpler  character  are  employed,  by  way  of 
illustration,  for  the  purpose  of  rendering  more  clearly 


•  I 


•  I  r 


il 


I ; 


rt 


;i  \ 


'^,i 


258 


AN   IN  rkoDLCTlU.N   To   LIlllCS. 


iiii 


intcllij;i1)lc  the  exact  nature  of  human  society.  Even 
the  simplest  of  coml)inations  —  that  of  mechanical 
action  and  reacti(jn  —  is  at  times  introduced  for  this 
purpose,  as,  for  exam})le,  in  phrases  which  speak  of 
"the  mechanism  of  society."  It  is  common  to  pro- 
test a,i;ainst  phrases  o(  this  kind  being  employed  as  if 
they  described  human  society  in  its  essential  nature; 
and  the  protest  is  often  accompanietl  with  a  conten- 
tion that  society  is  essentially  an  or<^anism,  and  that 
its  nature  is  to  be  explained  by  the  ideas  of  organi- 
zation rather  than  by  those  of  mere  mechanism.  It 
must  be  observed,  however,  that  none  of  these  analo- 
gies are  of  any  value  except  as  figures  that  serve  the 
purpose  of  illustrating,  in  some  of  its  aspects,  the 
nature  of  human  society  ;  but,  like  other  figures,  they 
defeat  their  purpose  by  obscuring  the  facts  they  arc 
used  to  explain,  when  they  are  treated  as  giving  a 
complete  account  of  these  facts. 

Society  cannot  be  adequately  described  in  terms 
derived  from  any  of  the  simi)ler  combinations  that 
exist  among  natural  objects.  Though  it  is  often  use- 
ful to  compare  complex  combinations  with  those  that 
are  more  simple,  in  order  to  discover  any  features 
that  may  be  common  to  both,  there  is  in  general 
some  factor  differentiating  the  former,  which  is  not 
to  be  found  in  the  latter  ;  and  it  would  imply  a  re- 
versal of  the  true  method  of  science  to  assume  that 
the  complex  phenomena  of  the  universe  are  to  be 
explained  by  merely  eliminating  all  that  differenti- 
ates them  from  simpler  phenomena.  Su  li  elimina- 
tion is  but  a  bare  abstraction  of  thought,  leaving  out 
an  essential  part  of  the  concrete  reality  to  which  it 


sii 


SOCIAL    DUriKS. 


-'59 


refers.  Thus,  the  pliilosophy  of  Descartes  assumes 
that  the  most  complex  comliinations  of  matter  are 
scientifically  explained  when  reduced  to  the  simplest 
of  all  physical  relation,  that  of  extension.  lUit  no 
mani[)uIation  of  this  idea  —  of  bare  sjxitial  relation -- 
will  yieUl  the  simplest  facts  of  mechanical  action,  even 
if  the  relations  of  time  are  acUled,  as  they  must  he. 
Still  less  can  a  mere  relation  in  sjjace,  even  with  the 
external  interactions  of  mechanism  superadded,  afford 
any  adetpiate  idea  of  the  combinations  of  chemism, 
in  which  the  interactive  atoms  sacrifice  their  inde- 
])cndent  existence,  becomin<;  absorbed  in  a  new  sub- 
stance endowed  with  [)roperties  wholly  different  from 
their  own.  The  combinations  of  the  crystallizing  {)rt)- 
cess  imply  an  a<;ency  of  which  no  adequate  account 
is  L;iven  in  the  processes  of  simple  chemism.  The 
dead  mechanical  or<j;anization  of  the  crystal  affords 
but  a  poor  type  of  the  free  livinj^;  origan izat ion  of 
animal  or  plant  ;  and  even  the  life  of  the  plant  must 
not  be  taken  as  a  complete  representative  of  the 
peculiarly  varied  complexities  of  animal  life.  But 
even  these  comi)lexities  are  only  an  imperfect  sym- 
bol of  the  associations  which  animals  form  amoni; 
themselves. 

Human  society,  however,  is  not  representetl  by 
any  association  of  mere  animals.  For  the  individual 
human  beiuir  is  somethinir  more  than  the  individual 
animal  ;  he  represents  a  complexity  which  is  not  to 
be  found  in  the  most  comi)lex  animal  or<;anization. 
In  him,  not  only  are  the  different  parts  of  his  body 
all  organs  subservient  to  the  uses  of  the  whole,  but 
the  whole  or;ranism  is  itself  reduced  to  the  rank  of 


':i 


I  i  I. 


1 1 


u  ! 


h:\ 


I.' 


260 


A\  iN'TKoDrrriox    lo  i;'i-nics. 


an  or^an,  whose  function  is  found  in  subserving  the 
purposes  of  an  intelligent  moral  personality.  This 
fact  alters  comjjletely  the  nature  of  the  society  which- 
men  form.  An  association  of  animals,  at  least  when 
it  is  not  merely  a  local  a.L;L;"re^ation,  but  reaches  a 
ctjmplexity  like  that  of  a  beehive,  mi^ht  with  a  cer- 
tain i)ropriety  be  tlescribed  as  an  or<;anism,  th()u,i;h 
it  should  be  kejit  in  mind  that  it  is  not  a  niere  or«;an- 
ism,  since  its  members  are  not  mere  ori;ans  existing;- 
only  for  the  sake  of  the  whole,  but  each  is  an  inde- 
pendent or<;anism  in  itself. 

If,  however,  the  ideas  of  ()ri;"anizati(  11  are  inade- 
quate to  express  the  associations  of  animals,  still 
more  defective  is  the  rej)!  esentation  they  afford  of 
human  society.  It  is  quite  true  that  the  individuals 
composini;  such  a  society  are  not  to  be  treated  as 
isolated  atoms  that  have  no  interdej:)endence.  On 
the  contrary,  each  individual  becomes  in  a  very  real 
way  an  origan  with  a  specific  function  to  performi  for 
the  <^'o()d  of  the  whole.  This  conception  of  human 
society  has  not  l)een  without  practical  value  as  a 
counteractive  against  t!ie  anarchical  atomism  which 
has  inspired  many  of  the  social  stru[;i;les  in  the  com- 
munities of  the  past.^  JUit,  however  valuable  for 
practical  or  s[)eculative  {nn'j)oses  such  a  conception 
may  l)e,  it  must  never  be  forj^otten  that  it  caimot 
represent  the  whole,  or  the  essential,  nature  of  human 
society.       As    this    conception    vividly   describes    it, 


1  Sec,  for  fxainpk'.  the  Wfllknown  a!K''^'(irv  of  Mciioniiis  A^rippa  in  I. ivy 
(ii.  ^2),  aiul  St.  Taul's  cxpustiilation  with  iIr'  early  (Jliii-iti.m  coiummiily  of 
Corinth  (2  Cui.  xii.).  Compare  .\t:iioi)lion,  A/,i/i.,  II.  ;;  aiul  Ckito,  /)<; 
Oj/iais,  III.  5. 


Vr,- 
If-' 

U:, 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


26  [ 


iiulc- 


for 
lUiiKin 
;is   a 

coin- 


c 


for 


•ptioii 
annot 
luiiian 
it. 


[ill   I. ivy 
liniity  of 


\ 


society  is  certainly  more  than  a  mechanical  combina- 
tion ;  it  is  an  ()ri;anism  :  but  it  is  also  somethin;^ 
greater.  In  mere  ori^^aiiization  the  members  have  no 
function  except  as  ori^nns,  as  iiUiriis  to  the  riiifs  of 
the  whole  or;j;anism.  In  society  the  members  are 
indeed,  in  one  aspect,  origans  servini;  as  means  to 
promote  the  ends  of  the  whole  community  ;  but  there 
is  a  profounder  aspect  in  whic-h  the  social  or_u;anism 
is  merelv  a  means  to  ])i-omote  the  ends  of  its  indi- 
vidual members.  I^'or  every  member,  as  an  intelli- 
_L:;ent  moral  beinj^,  is  an  end  to  himself  ;  and  the 
sayini;  "f  the  Great  Teacher  with  rei^ard  to  the 
institution  of  the  sabbath,  holds  with  regard  to  social 
institutions  in  pieneral,  — they  are  made  for  man,  and 
not  man  for  them. 

In  the  lii;ht  of  this  lar.i^cr  conception  of  human 
society,  we  can  see  our  way  more  clearly  in  traciuL; 
the  relations  of  justice  which  arise  between  such  a 
society  and  its  members.  Society  is  formed  for  the 
purpose  of  securing;  that  free  development  of  indi- 
vidual humanity  which  cannot  be  realized  either  in 
the  life  of  the  solitary  or  in  an  anarchical  collocation 
of  inilividuals.     Consequently,  while  each   individual 

ay  assert   the  primal   ri^ht   of   freedom  for  himself, 


m 


he  comes  under  the  correlative  obligation  to  accord 
the  same  ri^;h,t  to  others.  The  fundamental  consti- 
tution of  society  is  therefore  e(iuality  of  obli.i^ations 
I   of   rii;hts  on   the  part  of   its  members  ;  and  all 


an( 


social  mstitutions  must  liave 


fortl 


leu'ami  to  conserve 


this  constitution.     Sometimes,  in  superficial  lan_i;ua<;e, 
the  freech):n  of  the  indix'idual  is  set   over  airainst   the 


eneral  order  ot  society,  as  il   there  were  an  intrinsic 


f  th 


i!^i 


I 


k 


m 


•  f 


J  ■  rl 


262 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   KTFIfrs. 


conflict  between  the  two.  l^iit,  so  far  from  l^eini^ 
()])l)ose(I,  the  two  are  in  reality  one  and  the  same 
])rincip]e  looked  at  from  opposite  points  of  view. 
The  freedom  of  the  individual  is  an  empty  a'ostrac- 
tion  apart  from  the  social  order  by  which  it  is  main- 
tained, and  social  order  is  properly  the  realization  of 
individual  freedom.  How  much  social  rei^ulation  is 
demanded  to  i)revent  individuals  from  interferiiiL:; 
with  the  freedom  of  each  other,  —  that  is  ])recisely 
the  question  on  which  different  social  theories  diverij^e. 
In  so  far  as  the  questifjn  requires  to  be  noticed  here, 
it  will  be  best  considered  in  connection  with  the 
different  forms  of  society  into  which  men  are 
thrown. 

There  are  three  social  _<;roups  which  c^row  out  of 
the  nature  of  man  as  an  intelliujent  moral  beini^,  — 
the  Family,  the  State,  atid  the  Church.  The  first 
presents  moral  relations  still  bound  to  the  most  ob- 
trusive relation  created  by  nature,  the  relation  of 
kindred.  The  second  exhibits  man  creatine;"  a  mw 
and  wider  set  of  moral  relations  answering'  to  the 
demands  of  practical  reason,  and  independent  of  the 
relations  necessitated  by  nature,  but  still  limited  to 
those  recjuirements  that  are  absolutely  indispensable 
to  social  existence.  In  the  third,  reason  ha^  reio;;- 
nized  not  merely  the  indispcnsa])le  requirements  ol 
human  society,  but  aims  at  the  realization  of  its  own 
ideal.  These  three  forms  of  society  are  LaMierallv 
confounded  at  primitive  stai^es  of  culture,  and  a  L;reat 
part  of  history  is  the  differentiation  of  their  functions. 
Illustrations  of  this  confusion  and  differentiation  will 
appear  in  the  course  of  subsequent  discussions. 


SOCIAL   DUTIKS. 


263 


Wi 


t  ni 


i  same 
view. 
I'ostrac- 
s  niain- 
Ltion  of 
ition  is 
■rfcriiiL;' 
reciscly 
livcri^e. 
(1  here, 
ith  Ihc 
en    are 

r  out  of 

pin<;,  — 

he  first 

ost  ob- 

tioii    of 

a  new 

to   the 

t    of   til'' 

ited  to 
ieiisal>le 
reeo-- 
eiUs  of 
its  own 
'ncrally 
a  L!,reat 
net  ions, 
ion  will 
s. 


(//)  Tin:  Family.^  —  This  term  has  been  used  with 
a  variety  of  limitations.  At  the  present  day,  amoni; 
civilized  nations,  it  is  eommonly  understood  to  denote 
the  soeial  <;roup  fcjrmed  of  parents  and  those  of  their 
children  who  remain  under  their  roof  ;  but  it  has 
often  been  used  in  a  much  wider  sense,  at  times 
even  so  as  to  include,  besides  the  wife,  all  the  living- 
descendants  of  a  father,  who  were  not  lei;ally  eman- 
cipated from  his  i)aternal  authorit)',  and  his  slaves 
as  well.  Still,  whatever  definition  may  be  attached 
to  the  term,  it  always  implies  a  society  based  on  the 
relation  of  kinship.  Conscnpiently,  the  instinctive 
impulses  which  kinship  involves,  either  as  its  source 
or  as  its  result,  are  called  iiito  play  in  the  formation 
and  maintenance  of  the  family  :  so  that  the  relations 
of  family  life  are  naturally  controlled  by  these  im- 
l)ulses.  But  human  welfare  demands  that  all  the 
relations  of  life  shall  be  lifted  above  the  caj^rices  of 
unreason iuLC  emotion  into  the  si)here  where  the  un- 
varying laws  of  reason  jirevail.  Now,  all  reason  is 
knowledge  of  truth,  and  therefore  reasonable  laws 
for  the  government  of  the  family  must  be  founded 
on  a  truthful  regard  for  the  general  nature  of  the 
institution,  as  well  as  for  the  particular  circumstaiu^es 
of  different  countries  and  different  ages.  These  cir- 
cumstances of  course  vary  ;  and  not  only  have  they 

1  The  term  (Rconoinirs  is  litL'ially  applicililr,  and  was  in  fact  till  ncint 
tiiiu's  apiOicd.  to  tlie  science  whicli  deals  \vitl\  tlie  icmilatinn  of  tlie  family, 
'i'lie  iiistnrical  aspect  of  the  suhject  has  called  forth  a  j^rcat  deal  of  learned 
research  in  our  own  day,  and  much  interestini,'  information  has  been  collected 
in  reference  to  the  carliist  st.ii^es  in  the  devtlo|iment  if  tlu'  f.imily  and  of  the 
moral  ideas  by  which  it  i.s  fenced  in.  ,\n  useful  monograph.  (s'i^''i.','  numerous 
refeiences  to  the  literature  of  tlie  subject,  is  T/w  riiiuitivc  Family,  by  L'.  N, 
i^tarcke  (Vol.  66  ut  the  International  Scientitic  Series). 


'  I 


h    '  ■* 


,    *' 


264 


A\    IXTKODUCTION    'O    KTITTCS. 


often  prorluLcu  qiKi'iit  variiitit)ns  in  tlic  form  of  the 
family,  but  tiv  y  iin^lve  correspondinL;"  variation^  in 
the  r"']uiremi  nts  •)f  justice  with  reference  to  the 
conchict  of  family  life.  UnJer  all  these  variations, 
however,  justice  must  never  lose  sight  of  the  essen- 
tial nature  of  the  institution.  In  its  essential  nature, 
as  we  have  seen,  the  family  is  a  society  that  receives 
its  special  form  fn  m  the  natural  relations  in  which 
it  originates,  and  by  which  it  is  sustained.  As  a 
human  society,  it  must  guard  the  personality  of  each 
of  its  members,  and  every  regulation  which  degrades 
the  personality  of  any  member  is  essentially  unjust. 
This  holds  for  the  conjugal  as  well  as  for  the  parental 
or  filial  relation. 

T.  In  regard  to  the  coujiio-al  relation,  all  the  move- 
ments of  civilization  have  been  towanls  a  more  dis- 
tinct recognitic.i  of  the  personality  of  man  and  wife 
alike.  This  has  been  the  case,  not  only  in  the  moral, 
but  even  in  the  legal,  conception  of  the  relation. 

I.  In  its  L\^<il  aspect,  marriage  must  be  treated 
merely  as  a  reU'tion  of  external  action,  such  as  can 
l)e  taken  cognizance  of  by  legal  judicatures.  But 
this  restriction  has  sometimes  been  understood  in 
a  narrow  sense  for  which  there  is  no  justification. 
l^y  some,  marriage  has  been  treated  as  a  contract, 
having  exclusive  reference  to  the  physical  difference 
of  sex  in  its  narrowest  and  coarsest  limitation.^  ICveii 
from  a  purely  historical  standpoint  no  ground  can  be 
discovered  for  such  a  restriction  of  the  marriage  con- 


1  Unfortun.itcly  this  crass  superficiality  is  cmintonancca  by  Kant  {Rcchts- 
Ichrc,  §  2.|).  Hut  Kant  was  a  nachelor,  aiul  w.is  ajiparciitiy  ablo  ti»  see  inar- 
ria.m'  only  fmrn  an  oiit^iilcr's  point  of  view. 


'I|;yii|! 


SOCIAL  hrriES. 


265 


tract  On  tb'  con^rrirj,  tlic/o  vs  abuncUint  evidence 
to  slv^w  I'lat  even  ihe  l>)»ve't  sjv;iufe  seeks  a  wife 
mainly  to  cook  for  him,  t'-  civvy  his  burdens,  and  to 
do  otlier  work  which,  lb'  sa\.  ;e  standard  of  honor 
deems  inconsistent  with  tic  L';;;nity  of  the  nKde  sex; 
while  all  throu;;h  the  hi  io:_;-  ot  civilization  it  is  the 
g^eneral  interests  of  the  contra ctinic  parties,  of  their 
children,  and  of  society  at  larL;e,  that  have  determined 
the  leiral  reirulation  of  the  marria:re  contract. 

2.  But  if  this  universality  of  re<^ard  has  been  recog- 
nized even  in  the  legal  obligations  of  marriage,  much 
more  must  it  be  involved  in  its  moral  significance. 
In  relation  to  the  contracting  parties  themselves, 
the  import  of  the  contract  cannot  be  exhausted  by 
particular  external  acts,  but  only  in  a  life  which  is 
throughout  inspired  by  motivi's  of  self-sacrificing 
affection  for  each  other.  And  therefore  if  r;iarriagi^ 
is  to  be  described  in  its  moral  aspect  as  a  couMn'.-t  at 
all,  it  must  be  with  the  explicit  proviso  thai  it  is  a 
contract  in  no  ordiriar}  ..cnse  of  the  term,  hut  an 
agreement  that  reaches  into  the  innermost  activity 
of  the  human  spn!'^,  an  1  demamls  a  hearty  co-opera- 
tion in  the  sphe.  of  .ur  united  life.  Consequently 
it  is  not  surprisi:;-  that  mystics  in  all  ages  ha\e  taken 
marriage  as  a  tv]- .'  of  unioii.s  which  are  represented 
as  being  so  intimate  mat  they  cannot  be  describcil 
in  the  definite  forms  of  logical  thought  and  speech  ; 
nor  is  it  unintelligible  that  the  sense  of  the  my>teri- 
ous  intimacy  of  this  union  should  have  found  expres- 
sion by  its  being  made  to  partake  of  the  nature  of  a 
religious  rite. 

It  is  oJAious  that  an  union  of  this  descrii)ti()n  can 


H! 


I  ! 


266 


A\   IXTKODUCTIOX   To   I.TIIICS. 


be  realized  only  in  a  form  wliich  rccoLcnizcs  uiKciuiv- 
ocally  llio  iiulcpLMidciit  moral  woith  of  each  of  llu; 
persons  who  enter  into  it ;  and  therefore  all  relations, 
vvhieh  necessarily  involve  a  deL;radation  of  one  of 
the  i)ers()ns  to  the  uses  of  the  other,  are  inconsistent 
with  the  essential  nature  of  marriaL;"e.  Accordin_«;ly 
the  progress  of  moral  culture  has  uniformly  tendiil 
to  set  aside  i')oly<;"amy,  polyandry,  concubinage,  and 
all  customs  like  the  subjection  of  women  to  de^radin^" 
services,  which  i<^nore  the  e<iual  worth  of  man  and 
woman  as  moral  beinirs.  But  monoiramv  itself  has 
come  to  be  recognized  as  in^olvin.L;-  more  than  a  com- 
mon contract  which  can  be  dissolved  at  any  moment 
by  the  consent  of  the  contracting;  parties.  The  es- 
sential nature  of  the  marriai^e-union  wouKl  be  under- 
mined, unless  it  were  accompanied  with  a  guarantee 
of  permanence  such  as  is  unnecessary  in  ordinary 
contracts  ;  and  actual  exjierience  has  proved  that 
any  loosening  of  the  marriage  bond,  such  as  weakens 
the  security  fcu^  its  penuanence,  is  fi'aught  with  seri- 
ous peril  to  the  welfare  of  st)ciety.  It  is  on  this 
ground  also  that  the  practical  intelligence  of  soeietv 
has  always  repudiated  a  demoi'alizing  sent iiuental ism 
that  Vv'ould  treat  the  legal  contract  of  marriage,  hv 
which  alone  its  permanence  is  secured,  as  an  unes- 
sential formality  which  may  justly  be  dispensed  witli 
when  both  jxirties  feel  personally  assured  of  each 
other's  affection. 

II.  The /^^/-dV/A^/or^//^?/ relation  must  be  governed 
by  the  general  principle,  which  has  just  been  incul- 
cated, of  the  independent  moral  worth  of  the  persons 
concerned.     And  here  the  principle  is  all   the  more 


still  I 


SdClAI.    ItTTIKS. 


2^)/ 


Mif 


and 


necessary,  1)erause  in  early  cliildhood  peisonalily  ex- 
ists merely  in  the  _L;erin.  Its  |)otential  existence, 
however,  niiisl  be  rec();j,"nizetl  ;  and  all  i)arental  au- 
thority, as  well  as  all  lilial  obedience,  is  conditioned 
by  this  fact.  Justice  can  never  rec().L;"ni/.e  any  rii;lit 
in  a  parent  to  use  his  childi"en  as  mere  means  to  ///.v 
ends,  to  sell  ihem  into  slavery  oi'  concubinaL;c  or 
m;iiriai;e,  to  subject  them  to  unreasonable  commands 
or  prohibitions,  or  to  deL;-radin,L;"  services.  When 
there  is  any  outraL;eous  exix'ss  of  parental  authority, 
or  any  similar  excess  of  filial  disobedience.  Law  may 
of  coui'se  Interfere  to  redress  the  wroiiij;  done,  so  far 
as  the  external  relations  of  the  two  i)aities  are  con- 
cerned. l)Ut  it  is  obvious  tluit  there  may  be  on  both 
sides  a  L;reat  deal  of  wi-oni;-  done  without  reaciiiiiL;' 
that  deL;ree  of  injustice  which  can  clearly  be  biou-ht 
within  the  formal  definitions  of  Law;  and  therefore 
the  |)rccise  adjustment  of  jKirental  .uid  filial  obliL:;a- 
tions  must  he  left,  in  a  lari;e  measurt.',  to  the  opera- 
tion of  moral  inlluences.  Ilere  it  is  specially  impor- 
tant to  keep  in  mind  tlu'  general  princii)le  already 
explaineil,  that  moral  obligation  implies,  not  so  much 
the  i)rescription  of  particular  actions  or  even  of  spe- 
cial rules,  as  rather  the  cultivation  of  a  spirit  which 
will  control  the  whole  comluct  of  life.  Such  a  spirit, 
in  the  sphere  of  the  familw  will  point  to  a  coui-sc 
which  lies  between  the  unlimited  patria  polcsttis  of 
ancient  Rome,  and  that  dissolution  or  culpable  abdi- 
cation of  parental  autlu)rity  which  forms  an  alarminij; 
featiu'e  of  modern  communities,  es[)ecially  in  the 
New  World. 

(/)')     Till.  Siwri:.  — The  multiplication  of  families 


' 


1.  ». 


1>:A 


k 


u 


•  •'    ii 


/  , 


ff 


26.S 


A.\    l.\'lk()I)('('i-i(,x   To    KTIIICS. 


mns.  ,nn.^^  the  n,cn,l„.r,s  of  „„c  f;„„i,y  i„t„  ,.,,,ii„„ 
with  those  „f  anotluT;  an,|  conso,|uc„tly  the  rc-ulv 
ti"..  <.f  hum.,,,  life,  un.ler  .s„rh  an  extension  o'f  its 
sphere,  ,Ieman,ls  a  |Mi„ei|,|e  of  eon.hi.t  uhieh  t,an- 
sccndslhe  lin.its  „f    ti,e   fan.ily.     This    prineiple  is 

fomul  ,„  the  State;  a,Kl  the  |>ec,>lia,ily  of  this  social 
"ist.tut.on  consists  in   tl,e   faet.  that,  as    it   e,nl„aees 
families  and  all    other  soeial  Knmps,  it    heeomes  the 
su|>reme  authority  in  social  life.     Aeeo.din.ly  it  also 
;-laim.s  the  ri,ht,  not    only  to  p.escrihe  the'  ,elati„ns 
"•■  uhieh  men  shall  stan.l  to   one  am.ther  uhile  thev 
live  under  its  authority,  hut  to  compel  the  observanco 
'>t   Its   pi-esenptions   by  physical    fo,ee,  or  to   accom- 
pany  their  violation   with   <leterrent    penalties      The 
roa.son  of  this  claim  is  the  fact,  that  the  society  which 
he  State  controls  is  a  human  society,  and  must  there- 
l''iv  <.il^cr  Its  nund,e,s  secuie  freedom  to  live  the  life 
':'    intelhsent  moral  bein-s.      It  i.s  true  that  an   intel- 
ligent mondity  aims  at  the  culture  of  a  .//,/,„sM,„  to 
act  justly,  rather  than  at  the  enforcement  of  unwill- 
mg  acts  of   justice  ;    hut   the   interests  of    morality 
1  .self  prohibit   men  fro.n  „,,iti„j,  ,„,.  „„.   „.,.„^^.„,  .f,. 
that  disposition  in  tjieir  fellows,  an,l  ,ec|ui,-e  them   to 
enforce  the  essential  obligations  of  justice   in   o.der 
lo  the  very  possibility  of  rcilizinj;  a  moral  life  in  the 
workl.      rhere    is    therefore  a  sound  reason  for  the 
advice  of  an  ancient  I'ythagorean  to  a  father  who  had 
a.skcd  the  best  method   of  moral   e<lucation   for  his 
son  :  •'      'kc  him   the   citizen  of  a  State  with  good 
laws.  dien  the  true  connection  of  moral  and 

I'olitica.     .  itare  comes  to  be  more  clearly  un<lerstood 
patriotism  will  ri.se  from  its  attitude  of  inluiman  hos' 


^    ii' 


SOCIAL    Dl'TIKS. 


269 


i  i  t"c 

A'l- 

to 

•ill- 

ity 

of 
to 
.'V 

ho 

he 

;ul 
lis 
oil 
nd 
Hi, 

)S- 


tility  towards  forci.i;n  peoples,  into  the  hiiniani/.iii!^- 
sentiment  of  L^nititiule  for  the  heiietieent  moral  inliu- 
cnce  of  the  laws  and  institutions  of  our  own  country. 

The  particular  form  of  the  State  which  is  best 
adapted  for  its  ends,  is  a  problem,  not  for  I'lthics,  but 
for  Politics.  Under  all  forms  —  monarchical,  aristo- 
cratic, or  democr.itic  —  there  aie  two  antaL;onistic 
political  tendencies  which  sometimes  produce  j)ro- 
founder  differences  of  social  life  than  these  forms 
themselves.  These  tendencies  are  jjcrhaps  most 
clearly  described  as  Socialism  and  Individualism. 
'I'hey  represent  the  opposite  extremes  to  which  men 
incline  in  determininLT  the  extent  to  whiih  the  life  of 
the  individual  should  be  controlled  by  social  authority. 
The  conflict  between  the  two  cannot  be  settled  by 
abstract  reasons  alone,  but  rather  by  refei-ence  to  con- 
crete circumstances  in  the  condition  of  every  peo[)le. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  men  seldom  clin^-  to  either  ex- 
i:"'-me  ;  and  political  history  is  likely  for  a  Ioiil;  time 
to  be,  as  it  has  been  in  the  past,  a  stru-'-le  to  con- 
ciliate the  rival  tendencies.  In  this  stru;4L;"le  eveiy 
triumph  of  Individualism  ou,L;"ht  to  be  sobered  by  the 
reflection,  that  no  man  liveth  to  himself,  but  that 
society  is  in  a  very  real  sense  an  or,L;anism,  in  which 
every  member  serves  his  own  interests  most  tiuly  by 
serving;  the  interests  of  the  whole  ;  and  eijually  sober- 
imr  to  the  Socialist  ouLiht  to  be  the  truth,  that  the 
end  of  all  social  re_L;ulations  is  the  welfaie  of  the 
individuals  who  form  society,  that  the  .State  exists 
for  man,  not  man  for  the  State. 

Under  any  political   constitution  the  welfare  of  a 
community  must  always  depend  on  the  molality  of  its 


1 1 


AN  i.\rk<>i)r(Ti(»\  To  I  lilies. 


') 


11 


individiKil  incnibcrs  ;  l)iit  this  is  innsi  tlcarl)  the  case 
in  tlic  (Iciiu)cracy  which  is  ra|)i(lly  cxtcMdin-  amon.;- 
the  nations  of  iiiodcin  ^  ivili/.ation,  and  csjjccially 
amon^  those  that  sjjcak  the  I'ji;;1ish  lon.mic.  'I'hr 
democratic,  like  any  otluT  lOiin  of  L;ovei!nnent,  can 
l)e  justified  only  in  so  far  as  it  fui'nishes  the  most 
effective  method  of  securinL;'  wise  and  ju>t  rulers; 
but  in  a  democracy  tl)  end  can  be  attaiurd  only  in 
so  far  as  every  citi/.eii  fulfils  his  civic  obli_L;ations. 
Tiiese  oblii;ati()ns  are  based  on  the  fimdaiiKiilal  prin- 
ciple of  a  just  society,  which  implies  the  t(|ualily  of 
all  the  members,  as  all  e<|ually  entitletl  to  (.iijoy  the 
advantai;"es  of  the  sot  ial  ordei-,  and  ecpiallv  bound  to 
share  its  burdens.  Hut  in  a  democracy  every  citi/en 
has  a  twofolil  relation  to  the  i;{)\'erninent  ;  he  is  at 
once  one  of  the  ;.^o\-ernors,  chai__;ed  with  the  duties 
of  administration,  and  one  of  the  L;ovei"ned,  charL;ed 
with  the  duties  of  obedience.'  The  oblij^ations, 
therefore,  of  the  indixidual  to  the  State,  come  uniler 
two  heads. 

I.  lie  is  bound  to  undertake  his  due  share  in  the 
burden  of  aduu)iislratiotL  This  burtlen  is  itself  three- 
fold, it  recjuires  the  individual  to  peiform  honestly 
and  intelli<j;ently  the  task  of  selectini;'  competent  offi- 
cials to  carry  on  the  work  of  <;()vernment  ;  it  retpiires 
him,  when  pro])erly  called,  to  take  a  fair  i)rop()rtion  of 
the  labors  of  office  ;  and  it  requires  him  to  contribute 

'  ••  III  iiii)>t  coii.stitiitioiial  .St.iti-'.s  tiic  citizens  take  turns  at  rulim;  and  hrin;^ 
lulid  :  tur  it  is  inijilird  tiiat  by  n.itnre  tiiey  art-  (m  a  level,  and  do  not  differ  at 
all''  ( Arisldtle.  rolilLs,  I.12,  2).  'I'iie  remark  is  re|)e.ited  several  limes 
(II.  .',  (>;  III.  4.  10;  17,  4);  and  .\ii-.t(ille  tvideiitly  considered  the  habit  ol 
olKilhiiie  a  valuable  part  ol  the  disciijlinc  by  which  the  faculty  of  governing; 
is  trained. 


SOCIAL   DLTIKS. 


271 


ions, 


iiu 


Icr 


n  llic 

hroc- 

icstly 

It  olTi- 


I  Hires 


< ) 


n  ot 
biiLc 


Ix'ill', 


(llti 


■I  at 


111    linifs 
;iliit   of 


bvcriiiiii 


an  c(iuit;iblc  share  of  the  rcvcmic  by  wliich  j;nvcm- 
incnt  is  carried  on.  How  these  reciuireinents  can  be 
most  atlec|iiatcly  fulfilled,  is  a  problem  whicii  trav- 
erses tile  whole  j^n-ound  of  Political  Science.  Mlhics 
must  be  content  with  enouncing-,  in  reference  to  tliese 
requirements,  the  ^^eneral  [jrinciple  of  justice,  which 
forbids  us  from  imposini;"  upon  otliers  any  [)art  of  a 
burden  which  we  ou:j,ht  to  bear  ourselves. 

II.  lUit  i)olitical  complications  are  not  to  the  same 
extent  involved  in  comprehendinL;'  the  tUitics  of  oOc- 
dicHcc  to  j^overnmenl  ;  for  ihe  observance  of  these  is 
obviously  indispensable  to  the  very  existence  of  soci- 
itj',  as  opi)osed  to  d/id/  /r'.  Orderly  society  —  society 
under  an  established  ;j,()Vernment — exists  to  |)rotect 
the  ri^i^hts  of  the  individual,  or,  in  other  worths,  to  se- 
cure him  the  freetlom  necessary  for  developing  the 
hij;hest  humanity. 

I.  It  follows  from  this,  in  the  first  j)lace,  that  soci- 
ety must  enforce  its  own  laws  ;  that  is  to  say,  it  can 
tolerate  neither  dist)bedience  nor  any  assumjjtion  of 
its  functions  by  its  subjects.  vXccordiiiL^ly  it  must 
prohibit  any  indiviihial  or  any  association  of  indivicUi- 
als  from  arroi;atini;-  the  riL;ht  to  enforce  justice  or  to 
punish  injustice.  It  is  true,  that  in  early  stai^es  of 
history,  and  at  the  outskirts  of  civilization  even  now, 
when  leL;al  order  is  but  imj-'eifectly  develoi)eil,  or  can- 
not be  enforced  witli  a  linn  hand,  [)rivate  rech'ess  and 
ievenL;'e  have  either  been  openly  allowed,  or  at  least 
winked  at,  by  the  central  authority.  lUit  with  an 
established  order  and  a  sure  athninistration  of  justice, 
all  this  is  out  of  tiie  (|U''stion  ;  and,  thei'efore,  secret 


01 


r  other  urj^ani/.atioii..   wliich  u,>u![)  the   funetioiis  o 


f 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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fi'  ■  :      / 


j(„i 


,1 


272 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    KTIIICS. 


g-ovcrnmcnt  by  enacting  and  executing  laws  to  con- 
trol and  punish  persons  wh)  do  not  acknowledge  their 
authority,  strike  at  the  fundamental  principle  of  the 
moral  obligations  which  the  individual  owes  to  the 
State. 

2.  Suppose,  however,  a  case  to  arise,  in  which  an 
individual  fails  to  get  his  rights  enforced  or  wrongs 
redressed  by  the  State,  in  consequence  either  of  some 
imperfection  in  its  laws  or  of  the  laws  actually  al^et- 
ting  the  wrong.  How  is  the  individual  to  act.-*  In 
any  case  it  must  always  be  his  duty  to  consider 
whether  submission  would  not  entail  a  less  evil  than 
a  violation  of  law.  The  welfare  of  society  is  so  inti- 
mately bound  up  with  the  maintenance  of  an  estab- 
lished system  of  law,  however  imperfect,  that  only 
the  gravest  of  reasons  can  justify  any  loosening  of 
social  bonds  by  disobedience.  Obviously  such  a 
reason  cannot  be  found  in  the  mere  fact,  that  the  in- 
dividual disapproves  of  a  law.  A  man  might,  for  ex- 
ample, deem  a  law  unwise  which  prohibited  all  trade 
in  alcoholic  liquors  ;  but  unless  he  conceived  himself 
under  a  moral  obligation  to  use  such  liquors,  it  would 
be  his  duty  to  obey  the  law.  We  may  therefore  leave 
out  of  view  all  cases  of  this  nature,  and  limit  our 
problem  to  those  cases  in  which  the  law  prohibits  a 
man  from  doing  an  action  which  he  believes  it  his 
duty  to  do,  or  commands  him  to  do  an  action  which 
he  believes  to  be  wrong. 

In  considering  such  cases,  it  is  well  to  keep  in  mind 
the  fundamental  obligation  of  all  government  to  re- 
spect  the  freedom  of  individuals  by  imposing  on  that 
freedom  only  such  restrictions  as  are  indispensable  to 


,  to  con- 
iirc  their 
c  of  the 
;  to  the 


'hich  an 
■  wronirs 
of  sonic 
lly  abct- 
ict?  In 
consider 
:vil  than 
s  so  inti- 
m  cstab- 
hat  only 
ening  of 

such  a 
.t  the  in- 
t,  for  cx- 
all  trade 

himself 
it  would 
3re  leave 
imit  our 
ohibits  a 
es  it  his 
m  which 

in  mind 
;nt  to  re- 
;-  on  that 
n sable  to 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


273 


social  well-being.  What  these  restrictions  precisely 
are,  is  a  problem  for  Political  Science.  It  is  also  de- 
sirable to  keep  in  mind  the  fact,  that  government 
ought  to  afford  every  facility  for  social  improvement 
by  the  free  criticism  of  existing  laws,  and  constitu- 
tional agitation  for  their  reform,  merely  stipulating 
that,  as  long  as  the  laws  are  unrepealed,  they  shall 
be  obeyed.  It  becomes  therefore  the  primary  duty 
of  the  individual,  in  any  such  case  as  has  been  sup- 
posed, to  use  every  means,  which  the  constitution  of 
his  country  allows,  for  the  amendment  of  the  laws  by 
which  he  may  be  aggrieved.  But  if  constitutional 
procedure  fails  to  bring  about  any  amendment,  or  if 
immediate  submission  is  demanded,  then  the  individ- 
ual is  thrown  into  one  of  the  most  painful  conflicts 
in  the  spiritual  life  of  man.  On  the  one  hand,  he  is 
summoned  by  the  established  order  of  his  country 
to  disobey  the  general  principle  of  all  moral  obliga- 
tion, that  men  should  act  up  to  their  highest  con- 
ception of  what  is  right ;  on  the  other  hand,  he  is 
required  by  this  highest  conception  to  disobey  the 
general  principle  of  all  civic  obligations,  which  de- 
mands the  maintenance  of  social  order.  Now,  civic 
obligations  themselves,  so  far  as  they  are  moral  obli- 
gations, must  rest  on  the  fundamental  obligation  of 
all  morality  to  respect  the  imperative  demands  of 
conscience.  These  must  be,  for  every  individual,  the 
highest  law  of  conduct  ;  they  are  for  him  the  voice 
of  God,  and  the  world  will  not  willingly  ignore  the 
inestimable  moral  service  of  those  brave  men  who 
have  dared  to  confront  the  power  of  a  supreme 
human  authority  with  the  declaration  that  they  must 


)( 


11, 


Mil' 


M 


274 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


MvW 


obey  God  rather  than  mr  .  It  is  true,  that  at  such 
a  crisis  it  becomes  of  infinite  importance  that  the 
individual  should  seelc  by  every  available  means  to 
enlighten  his  conscience  on  the  question  at  issue. 
But  the  most  enlightened  conscience  may  at  times 
be  forced  by  irresistible  moral  conviction  to  decide 
against  obedience  to  the  law. 

On  such  a  decision  two  courses  may  be  followed. 
In  the  first  place,  the  individual  may  quietly  disobey 
the  law  simply  to  satisfy  his  own  conscience ;  and 
then  the  consequences  are  not  so  serious.  If,  with- 
out ostentation  of  martyrdom,  he  accepts  the  penal- 
ties of  disobedience,  there  may  be  a  touch  of  quiet 
heroism  in  his  unobtrusive  self-sacrifice,  thou^^h  even 
then  he  cannot  free  himself  wholly  from  responsi- 
bility for  the  contagious  influence  of  his  example  in 
shaking  the  loyal  regard  of  men  for  the  orderly  gov- 
ernment of  society.  But  a  second  course  may  be 
adopted.  Not  content  with  his  own  silent  disobedi- 
ence, the  individual  may  combine  with  others  to 
resist  the  enforcement  of  law ;  and  then  his  action 
assumes  the  nature  of  a  conspiracy  against  the  social 
order :  it  becomes  rebellion.  Now,  is  rebellion  in 
any  case  justifiable  .•'  On  this  question  there  are  two 
extreme  views.  On  the  one  side  there  are  fanatics 
who  would  make  any  trivial  grievance  a  rightful  cause 
of  rebellion.  This  fanaticism  has  found  a  more  defi- 
nite embodiment  at  the  present  day  than  perhaps  at 
any  previous  period,  in  the  practical  and  theoretical 
Anarchism  which  forms  one  of  the  most  alarming 
phenomena  in  the  political  life  of  our  time.  But 
Anarchism  is  a  denial  of  all  moral  obligation  in  refer- 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


275 


at  such 
that  the 
leans  to 
at  issue, 
at  times 
0  decide 

Followed. 

disobey 

ice ;  and 

If,  with- 

le  penal- 

of  quiet 

.\%h  even 

responsi- 

imple  in 

erly  gov- 

may  be 

iisobedi- 

thers  to 

is  action 

le  social 

llion   in 

are  two 

fanatics 

ul  cause 

ore  defi- 

rhaps  at 

coretical 

darming 

He.     But 

in  refer- 


ence to  social  order,  and  is,  in  fact,  based  on  the 
absolute  negation  oi;  moral  law.  If  the  reality  of 
moral  law  is  admitted,  there  follows,  as  a  necessary 
corollary,  the  moral  obligation  to  defend  that  external 
order  in  society,  which  forms  an  indispensable  condi- 
tion of  the  very  possibility  of  a  moral  life.  This 
obligation  is  so  evidently  implied  in  the  most  element- 
ary morality,  that  the  tendency  of  men  has  commonly 
been  towards  the  opposite  extreme  from  that  of  An- 
archism, —  the  extreme  which  has  been  formulated 
in  the  doctrine  of  Absolutism  or  Passive  Obedience. ^ 
Absolutism,  however,  when  thoroughly  carried  out, 
is  inevitably  suicidal.  For  an  absolute  government, 
to  be  logical,  must  seek  to  control  not  only  the  exter- 
nal conduct,  but  even  the  opinions,  of  men,  or  at 
least  all  expression  of  their  opinions.  That  is  to  say, 
it  puts  down  all  criticism  which  questions  its  absolute 
authority.  But  that  means  that  it  rests  its  authority, 
not  on  reason,  to  which  an  appeal  can  be  made  in  its 
vindication,  but  on  the  arbitrary  assertion  of  its  exist- 
ence as  a  government  dc  facto.  A  claim  to  be  a  gov- 
ernment dc  jure  is  a  pretension  in  which  it  could 
recognize  no  meaning  ;  for  such  a  claim  would  imply 
an  appeal  to  reason,  and  therefore  a  right  to  make 
a  rational  inquiry  into  its  authority.  Consequently 
Absolutism,  as  a  theory,  has  been  very  commonly 
associated  with  an  ethical  and  religious  scepticism 
like  that  of  Hobbes  or  Comte,  c.-  some  of  the  cham- 
pions of  Ultramontanism.  But  if  an  absolute  govern- 
ment can  base  its  authority  only  on  its  dc  facto  power, 

1  On   tlie  history  of  this  doctrine  see  Lccky's  History  of  Rationalism^ 
V^ol.  II.  pp.  136-221  (Anier.  ed.). 


'i!' 


n 


,  t 


^1 


w  ■* 


1^ 


f.  f 


r  f 


,ijm 


I! 


It  I 

m 


■im 


2^6 


AN    LXTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


■ —  can  base  its  right  only  on  its  might,  —  then,  as 
was  pointed  out  above,  it  must  always  remain  compe- 
tent for  a  stronger  power  to  assert  itself  against  the 
actual  governing  power ;  that  is  to  say,  rebellion  with 
a  fair  chance  of  success  becomes  justifiable.  Abso- 
lutism contradicts  and  annihilates  itself. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  this  as  in  other  spheres  of 
life,  men  have  usually  shrunk  from  adherence  to  any 
extreme.  Without  allowing  the  right  of  the  thought- 
less fanatic  to  disturb  the  peace  of  society  for  trivial 
causes,  they  have  acted  on  the  principle  that  it  is 
morally  allowab^  ^  to  overthrow  the  (/c  facto  govern- 
ment when  there  is  a  sufficient  cause  to  constitute 
a  higher  right.  But  while  rebellion  may  thus  be 
justified  in  the  abstract,  it  ought,  like  all  war,  to 
be  regarded  as  a  last  unwelcome  necessity,  only  to 
be  resorted  to  when  all  constitutional  means  of  de- 
fending the  right  have  failed,  and  appear  doomed  to 
failure. 

{C)  The  Church  is  considered  here  simply  as  a 
form  of  society.  Its  object  is  not,  like  that  of  the 
State,  to  secure  the  external  social  conditions  with- 
out which  moral  existence  would  be  impossible,  but 
rather  to  provide  the  means  for  cultivating  the  high- 
est moral  and  spiritual  life  of  which  man  is  capable. 
But  the  highest. life  can  never  be  an  activity  to  which 
man  is  unwillingly  coerced  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  must 
always  be  freely  adopted  by  an  act  of  intelligent  voli- 
tion. The  Church  dare  not,  therefore,  like  the  State, 
employ  physical  compulsion  for  the  purpose  of  enfor- 
cing its  aims ;  it  must  depend  entirely  on  the  influence 
of  intelligent  conviction  over  the  lives  of  men.     In 


.Uji- 


SOCIAf.   DUTIES. 


-^17 


then,  as 
11  compe- 
linst  the 
lion  with 
.     Abso- 

)heres  of 
e  to  any 

thought- 
or  trivial 
;hat  it  is 
1  govern- 
onstitiitc 

thus  be 
L  war,  to 
',  only  to 
is  of  de- 
3omed  to 

nply  as  a 
it  of  the 
ions  with- 
ible,  but 
he  high- 
capable, 
to  which 
it  must 
jent  voli- 
le  State, 
of  enfor- 
nfluence 
Hen.     In 


so  far  as  it  is  a  form  of  society  at  all,  it  is  essentially 
a  kingdom  that  is  not  of  this  world. 

The  fundaniental  obligation  of  the  individual  to 
this  social  organization  is  to  keep  it  true  to  its  spir- 
itual character.  This  is  an  obligation  for  those  who 
arc  outside,  as  well  as  for  those  who  are  inside,  of 
any  church  ;  for  every  individual,  as  a  member  of  the 
State,  stands  in  a  certain  relation,  not  only  to  other 
individuals,  but  also  to  the  various  social  groups  that 
are  in  the  State.  Now,  this  obligation  branches  out 
in  two  directions.  In  the  first  place,  every  church 
has  the  right  which  belongs  to  every  individual,  of 
developing  the  highest  human  life  within  such  limits 
as  the  welfare  of  society  imposes  upon  all  social 
organizations  ;  and  therefore  it  may  justly  chiim  from 
all  men  perfect  toleration,  perfect  freedom  from  per- 
secution, in  carrying  on  its  spiritual  work,  as  long  as 
it  does  not  infringe  the  rights  of  other  persons.  P>ut, 
in  the  second  place,  this  qualification  is  always  im- 
plied as  restricting  every  claim  for  toleration  that 
may  be  made  by  any  individual  or  by  any  society. 
Consequently  the  State,  as  representing  the  whole 
community,  is  bound  to  see  that  equal  rights  are 
accorded  to  all  religious  or  other  societies,  as  well  as 
to  all  individuals,  and  that  therefore  no  religious 
society  shall  be  allowed  to  inflict  any  injustice  u[)()n 
any  other  society  or  upon  any  individual  that  is  under 
the  protection  of  the  State. 

Of  course  it  must  not  be  concealed  that  these  gen- 
eral principles  carry  us  but  a  very  little  way  towards 
the  settlement  of  the  complicated  problems  that  arise 
ill  practical  life  ;  and  therefore  some  of  the  most  per- 


!     ! 


i» 


'I ' 


Pi! 


i  '  *  :  .1  s 


I?  ?■ 


i 


w 


i-  ' 


278 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


!■  .  *• 


ilil'''^^ 


hlim 


^m : : 


plcxing  questions  in  the  administration  of  justice, 
and  even  some  of  tlie  greatest  conflicts  of  human 
history,  have  grown  out  of  the  jarring  claims  of 
Church  and  State.  But  these  problems  cannot  be 
solved  by  purely  ethical  considerations ;  they  carry 
us  at  once  into  the  domains  of  Politics  and  Juris- 
prudence, and  sometimes  also  of  Theology.  Still  the 
moralist  must  always  be  ready  to  support  the  states- 
man and  the  jurist  in  demanding  that  no  religious 
society  shall  be  allowed,  under  pretence  of  a  spiritual 
privilege,  to  strike  at  fundamental  obligations  in  the 
moral  life  of  men.  Obviously,  for  example,  the  State 
must  insist  that  the  moral  bonds  which  hold  society 
together  shall  not  be  loosened  by  any  religious  organ- 
ization encouraging  treason  or  any  form  of  disloyalty 
to  the  laws  of  the  country  in  which  it  seeks  protec- 
tion for  itself.  And  the  great  civilizations,  both  of 
the  ancient  and  of  the  modern  world,  have  never 
hc:  ;„:>.ted  to  refuse  toleration  to  practices  which, 
tii  gh  adopted  under  the  sanction  of  religion,  are 
incompatible  with  a  civilized  morality.  Thus  even 
the  Pagan  government  of  ancient  Rome  interfered 
on  several  occasions,  by  very  summary  process,  with 
obscene  or  cruel  practices  associated  with  the  strange 
religion?  which  prevailed  in  different  parts  of  the 
empire ;  ^  and  the  example  has  been  followed  in  mod- 
ern times  by  the  British  government  suppressing 
religious  rites  of  a  cruel  charactci  in  India,  as  well 
as  by  the  government  of  the  United  States  refusing 

1  Worship  of  Bacchus  (Livy  XXXIX.  S-19),  uf  Isis  and  Serapis  (Val. 
Max.,  I.  3),  of  Anubis  (Josepluis,  Anticj.,  XVIII.  3),  Druidical  human  sacri- 
fices (Suetonius,  in  Life  of  Claudius,  25). 


SOCIAL  DUTIES. 


279 


'!': 


:  justice, 
if  human 
:laims  of 
mnot  be 
ley  carry 
nd  Juris- 

Still  the 
Q  states- 
religious 

spiritual 
IS  in  the 
:he  State 
1  society 
IS  organ- 
iisloyalty 
s  protec- 

both  of 
/■e  never 
which, 
jion,  are 
us  even 
itcrfered 
-ss,  with 

strange 
of   the 

in  mod- 
:)ressing 
,  as  well 
refusing 

;iapis  (Val. 
Liman  sacri- 


to  tolerate  polygamy  among  the  Mormons,  though  it 
had  been  adopted  as  an  article  of  religious  faith. 

(ii.)    Oni.iGArioNs  of  Justi   ••■.  to  Individuals. 

A  convenient  and  natural  prii^ciple,  on  which  to 
classify  these  obligations,  is  furnished  by  the  fact 
that,  as  a  person,  man  is  constituted  of  a  physical 
and  a  mental  nature,  and  that  he  may  therefore  claim 
certain  rights  in  reference  to  both. 

(/I)  Justice  in  Re fc truce  to  Physical  Life,  — The  life 
of  the  body  implies  not  only  its  bare  existence,  but 
also  its  activity  ;  and  therefore  justice,  as  based  on 
the  right  of  personal  freedom  or  self-defence,  involves 
the  right  and  the  obligation  of  protection  (I.)  from 
injuries  that  affect  the  very  existence  of  the  body,  as 
well  as  (II.)  from  anreasonable  interference  with  the 
free  use  of  its  organs. 

I.  Protection  from  bodily  injury.  The  highest 
moral  life  requires  security.  Those  who  are  under 
fear  of  death,  or  even  of  milder  bodily  injuries,  are 
truly  said  to  be  all  their  lives  subject  to  bondage. 
Consequently,  in  all  civilized  countries.  Law  makes 
elaborate  provision  for  security.  Such  provision  forms 
in  fact  a  large  part  of  Criminal  Jurisprudence  ;  and 
this  science  '^as  invented  an  elaborate  nomenclature 
to  define  precisely  the  various  forms  of  bodily  vio- 
lence of  which  Law  requires  to  take  cognizance. 
Sometimes,  in  treating  these,  moralists  have  followed 
the  formal  definitions  of  the  jurists.^     But  it  must 

1  An  cxamnic  will  be  found  in  WlicwcU's  F.Ioncnts  of  Moyality  (Articles 
112-128),  which  n.ay  therefore,  from  this  point  of  view,  be  consulted  with 
advantage. 


li' 


*i 


28o 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO  I.TIIRS. 


Kl     f 


•■■  I 


» 


not  be  forp^ottcn  that  morality  demands,  not  so  much 
n/onfi  of  action  jircciscly  defined,  as  ratlier  tb.e  s/^irU 


w 


hich 


seeks  ex pre 


ssion  in  that  for 


m  ;  anc 


1  th 


e  mor; 


ol)ligations  of  justice  are  not  for  any  man  restricted 
by  the  bare  requirements  of  his  country's  laws,  but 
are  determined  by  the  development  of  that  spirit  in 
his  time.     The  spirit  which  manifests  itself  in  this 


It  of 


al  h 


th( 


)f  th( 


departm( 

sacredness  of  human  life,  —  a  sentiment  whose  growth 

has  been  one  of  the  concomitant  marks  of  advancing 

civilization. 

This  sentiment  is  extremely  feeble  in  the  savage 
state.  The  rude  tribes  of  that  state  seem  to  be  per- 
petually at  war  with  one  another,  and  to  gain  a  live- 
lihood mainly  by  hunting  and  fishery  ;  so  that  the 
savage  maintains  the  cruellest  relation  not  only  to 
his  fellow-men,  but  also  to  the  lower  animals.  The 
pastoral  life,  even  when  associated  with  nomadic 
habits,  implies  a  considerable  improvement  in  both 
these  relations.  The  lower  animals  enter  into  a 
kindlier  place  in  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  men 
than  when  they  arc  merely  hunted  to  death,  even 
though  they  may  still  be  raised  only  for  the  purposes 
of  food  ;  while  the  continuous  possession  of  domes- 
ticated animals,  though  it  involved  no  other  form  of 
property,  requires  as  its  indispensable  condition  a 
certain  amount  of  peace  between  neighboring  tribes. 
A  kindlier  sentiment  towards  foreigners  thus  finds  a 
chance  of  growing ;  and  it  may  have  been  a  result  of 
this,  that,  in  the  event  of  war,  captives,  instead  of 
being  sacrificed  to  gratify  hunger  or  an  aimless  cru- 
elty or  a  horrid  superstition,  were  preserved  as  slaves 


III 


SOCIAL  DUTIES. 


281 


io  iiukh 
b.c  spirit 
(J  moral 
istrictcd 
ivvs,  but 
spirit  in 
in  this 
t  of  the 
\  growth 
vancing 

savage 
be  pcr- 
.  a  live- 
hat  the 
only  to 
The 
lomadic 
in  both 
into   a 
of  men 
1,   even 
irposes 
lomes- 
orm  of 
tion    a 
tribes, 
inds  a 
suit  of 
ead  of 
js  cru- 
laves 


to  help  in  pastoral  labor,  a'he  indueement  to  pre- 
serve eaptives  increases  with  the  increased  labor  uf 
the  agricultural  state,  which,  implying  a  more  per- 
manent settlement  and  a  more  various  property,  re- 
quires also  a  greater  security  against  the  ravages  of 
war.  Moreover,  it  brings  with  it  a  still  kindlier  rela- 
tion to  the  lower  animals,  which  can  be  reared  not 
merely  for  food,  but  to  be  used  as  companions  in  the 
industries  of  the  field.  But  the  curse  of  the  military 
spirit,  which  imparts  such  a  cruel  character  to  early 
savagery,  continues  to  infect  the  highest  civilization. 
In  the  ancient  Pag^n  world,  brilliant  though  its  civil- 
ization was  in  many  respects,  the  moral  ideal  threw 
into  unreasonable  prominence  the  stern  virtues  of  a 
military  type  ;  and  consequently  it  allowed  practices, 
like  abortion,  infanticide,  and  the  show  ;  of  the  am- 
phitheatre, which  are  revolting  to  the  sentiment  of 
modern  Christendom. 

The  inrtuence  of  Christianity  in  refining  the  moral 
ideal  has  been  manifested,  not  so  much  in  any  peculiar 
ethical  teaching,  as  rather  in  a  new  general  attitude 
towards  the  ethical  problems  of  life.  For  the  first 
time  the  brotherhood  of  man  was  enounced  in  all  its 
significance,  without  limitation  from  any  distinctions 
of  race  or  sex,  of  external  or  internal  condition  ;  and 
the  basis  was  thus  laid  for  an  universal  human  sym- 
pathy. For  the  first  time  the  infinite  worth  of  every 
human  being  as  an  immortal  moral  personality  was 
also  proclaimed,  and  a  demand  was  thus  implicitly 
made  for  the  treatment  of  each  individual  with  respect 
for  the  humanity  which  he  represents.  The  moral 
ideal  became,  as  a  consequence,  profoundly  altered. 


\m 


\\ 


!     I 


.  I 


!  I 


I 


.1 


lli 


iM' 


282 


AN   INTKODUCTIOxV  TO   KTIIICS. 


M 


l:H 


The  sterner  virtues  of  the  military  character  fell  into 
the  backj^round,  or  were  directed  to  a  different  form 
of  hardihood,  while  the  virtues  of  "love,  joy,  peace, 
lon<^-suffering,  ^^entleness,  j;oodness,  faith,  meekness, 
temperance,"  became  the  spiritual  fruits  after  which 
men  were  taught  to  aspire.  Nor  would  it  be  easy  to 
over-estimate  the  influence  exerted  by  the  story  of 
the  Master's  labors  as  a  healer  of  disease,  and  by  the 
devotion  of  Christian  priests  in  carrying  the  glad  tid- 
ings of  a  higher  life  to  the  most  pitiable  members  of 
society,  —  to  slaves  and  prisoners,  to  the  poor  and  the 
sick,  in  all  the  great  cities  of  the  empire.  The  dis- 
cipline of  the  church  was  also  powerful  in  the  same 
direction.  It  is  to  the  credit  of  her  leaders,  that  they 
never  faltered  in  their  condemnation  of  the  ami)hi- 
theatre  as  utterly  incompatible  with  the  spirit  of 
Christianity.  No  matter  what  might  be  his  rank, 
they  never  hesitated  to  refuse  communion  with  any 
man  who  sanctioned  by  his  presence  that  abomination 
of  cruelty.^ 

But  the  influence  of  Christianity  was  for  centuries 
impeded  by  the  overwhelming  inroads  of  barbarism 
upon  the  old  civilization  of  the  Roman  Empire.  In 
fact,  durin<x  the  Middle  Ages  the  whole  structure  of 
society,  so  far  from  indicating  any  genuine  expansion 
of  the  gentler  virtues,  showed  rather  a  degradation  in 
some  respects  from  the  standard  of  Pagan  antiquity. 
The  wars  were  often  as  cruelly  savage  as  the  worst  of 
ancient  Rome,  while  the  sufferings  they  entailed 
became  all  the  more  appalling  from  the  state  of  serf- 
dom to  which  the  mass  of  the  people  had  been  de- 

1  Lccky's  History  oj  European  Morals^  Vol.  II.  pp.  19-65. 


SOCIAL   DUTIF.S. 


2^i 


fell  into 
cnt  form 
y,  peace, 
cckncss, 
LT  which 
-'  easy  to 

story  of 
d  by  the 
glad  tid- 
nbers  of 

and  the 
rhe  dis- 
he  same 
hat  they 
:  amphi- 
spirit  01 
is  rank, 
'ith  any 
lination 

jnturies 
rharism 
ire.  In 
'ture  of 
pansion 
it  ion  in 
tiquity. 
orst  of 
ntailed 
)f  serf- 
}cn  de- 


};raded,  and  which  seemed  to  destroy  all  fellow-feelinL,^ 
for  them  on  the  part  of  the  knightly  warriors.  The 
fierce  sentiment's  that  characterized  the  moral  ideal 
of  medixval  knighthood  were  strikingly  brought  out 
in  the  one  great  sport  of  the  period.  The  tourna- 
ment, under  a  thin  veil  of  Christian  sentiment, 
scarcely  concealed  its  essentially  heathen  character 
and  origin:  "  it  was  nothing  but  what  old  heathen 
heroes  had  practised,  and  what  they  were  to  continue 
forever  in  their  Valhalla, — the  contention  of  rivals 
for  the  favor  of  the  Valkyries,  whose  place  was  taken 
by  noble  dames."  ^ 

In  modern  times  the  most  effectual  counteractive 
to  the  military  influences  which  still  obstruct  civili- 
zation has  been  the  rise  of  the  great  industrial  com- 
munities. It  is  true,  our  industrial  civilization  has 
its  own  evils  :  it  is  often  accompanied  with  a  greed 
which  produces  a  hard  insensibility  to  human  suffer- 
ing, and  even  to  the  sacredness  of  human  life.  But 
it  would  be  a  misreading  of  history  to  suppose  that 
the  evils  of  industrialism  ever  reach  the  appalling- 
magnitude  of  those  which  have  flowed  from  the  mili- 
tary spirit.  And  consequently  the  great  ex})ansi()n 
of  industrial  activity  within  the  present  century  has 
been  accompanied  by  a  similar  expansion  of  respect 
for  the  life  and  health  of  men. 

Even  in  warfare  the  sentiments  of  peaceful  indus- 
try have  begun  to  exert  a  mitigating  influence.  The 
wars  of  an  older  time  were  generally  conducted 
on  the  assumption  that  all  the  inhabitants  of  a  con- 
quered province  or  city,  however  innocent  of   any 

1  Menzel's  Gcscfiic/itc  dcr  Dfufscliiii.  lidok  \'I.  cliaptcr  ii. 


I 


V' 


M 


I 


11  I* 


!i 


284 


AN    INTRODUCTION  TO  ETHICS. 


1 

■i 

* 

A 

responsibility  for  the  conflict,  might  be  indiscrimi- 
nately plundered  or  carried  off  into  slavery,  or  even 
massacred ;  while  in  the  great  wars  of  recent  date  it 
has  been  given  out  as  a  demand  of  civilization,  that 
non-combatants  should  be  exempted  from  plunder  or 
injury,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  from  any  of  the  suffer- 
ings attendant  upon  war.  Even  combatants  have 
been  treated  with  a  humanity  that  was  scarcely 
dreamt  of  till  our  day.  Among  civilized  nations 
agreements  have  been  formed  with  the  intention  of 
mitigating  the  horrors  of  war,  such  as  the  regulation 
against  the  use  of  weapons,  like  explosive  bullets, 
which  inflict  needless  suffering  upon  the  wounded  ; 
and  it  is  a  splendid  proof  of  the  widening  sympathy 
of  the  human  race,  that  m  recent  wars  great  inter- 
national societies  have  been  called  into  existence  for 
the  purpose  of  providing,  by  voluntary  subscriptions, 
surgeons  and  nurses  and  ambulance  corps,  that  fol- 
low both  of  the  contending  armies  on  to  the  very 
field  of  battle,  with  the  view  of  carrying  to  the 
wounded  as  speedy  and  effective  relief  as  possible. 

The  same  expansion  of  sympathy  beyond  the  limits 
of  nationality  is  shown  in  the  quick  response  which 
any  great  calamity  in  one  country  has  called  forth  in 
other  nations,  readily  volunteering,  not  a  mere  senti- 
mental condolence,  but  substantial  relief  to  the  suf- 
ferers. The  growing  horror  with  which  men  view  the 
infliction  of  avoidable  suffering  upon  their  fellows,  is 
further  seen  in  many  other  facts,  —  in  that  improve- 
ment of  the  criminal  code  which  will  be  referred  to 
more  particularly  again,  in  the  provisions  to  protect 
women  and  children  from  excessive  labor,  in  the  con- 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


285 


liscrimi- 
or  even 
;  date  it 
on,  that 
indcr  or 
c  SLiffcr- 
ts   have 
scarcely 
nations 
ntion  of 
giilation 
bullets, 
minded  ; 
y'mpathy 
at  inter- 
jnce  for 
riptions, 
hat  fol- 
ic very 
to    the 
ible. 
limits 
which 
orth  in 
e  senti- 
le  suf- 
iew  the 
ows,  is 
nprove- 
rred  to 
protect 
le  con- 


ic 


tinned  demand  for  the  fuller  protection  of  laborers  and 
travellers  against  the  injuries  to  which  they  are  ex- 
posed, in  the  great  movement  of  our  time  for  improv- 
ing the  sanitary  condition  of  towns.  All  sentient 
existence,  in  fact,  has  benefited  by  the  [)eration  of 
the  same  cause,  as  shown  in  the  legal  provisions  for 
the  prevention  of  cruelty  to  animals,  culminating 
in  the  British  law  which  regulates  the  employment 
of  vivisection  even  for  scientific  purposes. 

The  sentiment  of  the  sacrcdness  of  human  life,  — 
the  horror  of  cruelty, — which  has  been  thus  devel- 
oped by  the  moral  struggles  of  the  past,  imposes  obli- 
gations of  justice  which  must  be  interpreted  in  no 
narrow  spirit.  Inheriting  a  sentiment  of  so  much 
value  for  the  moral  interests  of  human  life,  the  civil- 
ized races  are  bound  to  guard  against  any  relapse  into 
barbaric  usages  which  might  imperil  the  inheritance 
they  have  won,  and  to  labor  for  the  eradication  of  all 
those  nassions,  springing  whether  from  industrial  or 
from  military  life,  which  tend  to  inflict  physical  suf- 
fering, or  to  lower  the  physical  well-being  of  men. 
Recognizing  the  intimate  connection  which  abstract 
science  and  concrete  facts  alike  establish  between 
moral  and  physical  condition,  the  efforts  of  justice 
must  be  directed  to  the  removal  of  all  those  causes 
which  are  injurious  to  life  and  health,  and  to  secure 
for  every  human  being  such  conditions  of  physi- 
cal existence  as  arc  essential  to  the  highest  moral 
welfare. 

II.  Protection  from  unreasonable  control  Person- 
ality, which  is  the  basis  of  all  rights  and  obligations, 
is  not  inert  existence  ;  it  is  living  existence,  —  activ- 


V 


\  ■ 


I 


I 


'H    1 


i  ■  l|; 


■  v'J: 


|i|| 


286 


AN   LNTRODUCTION   TO  KTIIICS. 


ity  ;  and  therefore,  so  far  as  personality  is  connected 
with  physical  life,  it  involves  the  right  of  physical  ac- 
tivity, that  is,  the  right  to  employ  our  bodily  powers 
as  we  choose,  so  long  as,  in  doing  so,  we  do  not 
directly  or  indirectly  interfere  with  the  same  right 
on  the  part  of  others. 

This  right  may  be  viewed  in  two  aspects,  —  as  free- 
dom from  co}istraiiit,  and  as  freedom  from  restraint. 
In  the  former  it  implies  that  every  man  may  right- 
fully resist  any  compulsion  to  work  otherwise  than  he 
pleases,  at  any  occupation  he  does  not  choose.  The 
second  aspect  implies  the  right  of  every  man  to  resist 
attempts  that  would  prevent  him  from  working  at  any 
occupation  he  may  choose,  so  long  as  his  choice  does 
not  infringe  upon  the  rights  of  others. 

This  consciousness  of  the  inherent  right  of  every 
human  being  to  the  free  use  of  his  bodily  powers  has, 
like  the  sentiment  of  the  sacredness  of  life,  been  a 
comparatively  slow  growth  of  moral  culture.  Not 
only  the  rude  tribes  of  primeval  history,  not  only  the 
semi-barbaric  empires  of  the  East,  but  the  great  civ- 
ilizations of  the  West,  in  modern  as  well  as  in  ancient 
times,  have  all  been  disgraced  by  the  institution  of 
slavery.  Even  in  ancient  Greece,^  as  appears  from 
the  discussion  in  Aristotle's  "  Politics,"^  there  were 
thinkers  sufBciently  raised  above  the  influence  of 
their  surroundings  to  question  the  justice  of  slavery, 
though  Aristotle  himself  evidently  seems  inclined  to 
the  view  that  the  institution  is  based  on  an  ineradi- 

1  The  history  of  slavery  in  the  ancient  world  is  the  subject  of  a  very  elab- 
orate monograph  in  tliree  volumes  by  II.  Wallon,  Histoire  dc  I'csclavage 
dans  ruiitiquitc. 

2  Book  I.  chapter  vi. 


)nnccted 
^sical  ac- 
\f  powers 
I  do  not 
Tie  right 

-  as  f  rce- 
rcstraint. 
ay  right- 
;  than  he 
se.  The 
to  resist 
{\\s^  at  any 
oice  does 

of  every 

wers  has, 

,  been  a 

Not 

only  the 

reat  eiv- 

ancient 
ution  of 
irs  from 
ere  were 
lence  of 

slavery, 
clined  to 

ineradi- 

a  very  elab- 
Icsclavage 


re 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


287 


cable  difference  of  nature  between  different  human 
beings.  In  opposition  to  this,  however,  he  frankly 
recognizes  the  fact,  that  sometimes  a  slave  may  have 
the  soul  and  body  of  a  freeman,  while  freemen  have 
sometimes  the  souls  and  bodies  of  slaves.  The  recojr- 
nition  of  this  fact  in  later  Roman  history,  when  slaves 
of  Greek  culture  were  very  common  in  the  families  of 
comparatively  uneducated  Roman  masters,  may  have 
led  to  the  one  substantial  protest  against  the  institu- 
tion in  the  practice  of  manumission,  which  created  a 
numerous  class  of  freedmcn  throughout  the  empire. 
But  this  practice  does  not  seem  to  have  indicated  any 
sentiment  against  slavery  in  itself;  and  any  convic- 
tion in  favor  of  freedom  as  an  inherent  right  of  every 
man,  must  have  been  confined  to  speculations  which 
had  no  effect  on  political  life.  Even  Christianity  did 
not  at  once  place  itself  in  unmitigated  hostility  to  the 
maintenance  of  the  institution,  its  effect  being  mainly 
due  to  the  same  cause  which  expanded  the  sentiment 
of  the  sacredness  of  life.^  The  feudal  society  of  the 
middle  ages  reduced  the  great  body  of  the  rural  pop- 
ulation to  a  state  of  serfdom,  though  it  is  well  also  to 
bear  in  mind  that  the  rise  during  the  same  period,  of 
the  great  manufacturing  and  mercantile  towns,  with 
the  rights  which  they  succeeded  in  wringing  from 
kings  and  nobles,  asserted  the  freedom  of  labor  with 
\  distinctness  unknown  even  in  the  ancient  republics, 
in  which  a  large  part  of  industrial  work  was  always 
done  by  slaves  or  by  persons  in  a  state  of  political 

1  The  relation  of  Christianity  to  slavery  is  treated  at  length  by  Wallon 
(Book  III.  chapter  viii.),  and  by  Lccky  {History  of  European  Morals^  \'ol. 
11.  pp.  65-77). 


( 


f 


•■  \ 


H 


III 


288 


AN    IXTRODUCTION  TO    irrillCS. 


I  •' 


Ihl    lilt 


disability.^  The  discovery  of  America  brought  the 
European  conquerors  and  immigrants  into  social  con- 
nection with  races  which  represented  a  very  much 
lower  type  of  civilization.  The  Spanish  conquerors 
reduced  the  aborigines  to  slavery.  The  English  set- 
tlers introduced  slaves  from  Africa,  and  thus  encour- 
aged a  form  of  enslavement  the  most  cruel,  the  most 
utterly  unjustifiable,  that  has  ever  disgraced  human- 
ity. The  whole  system  of  slavery  received  its  death- 
blow among  the  civilized  nations  of  the  world  by  the 
suppression  of  the  rebellion  in  the  United  States  ; 
for  the  interest  of  that  struggle  in  the  moral  history 
of  mankind,  lay  in  the  fact,  that  upon  its  issue  de- 
pended the  final  settlement  of  the  question,  whether 
slavery  was  to  be  accepted  as  a  social  institution  in 
harmony  with  Christian  civilization,  it  is  not  sur- 
prising, therefore,  that  the  close  of  the  struggle  was 
followed  in  a  few  years  by  the  abolition  of  serfdom  in 
Russia,  and  of  slavery  in  Brazil. 

The  expansion  of  the  sentiment  of  freedom,  which 
has  within  the  past  hundred  years  driven  slavery  be- 
yond the  pale  of  Christian  civilization,  affords  ground 
for  the  hope  that  it  will  soon  clear  away  any  unrea- 
sonable restrictions  on  the  freedom  of  individuals, 
which  still  conflict  with  the  full  requirements  of  jus- 
tice. There  are  some  spheres  of  human  life,  in  which 
justice  demands  that  a  good  deal  must  be  done  to 
vindicate  freedom,  especially  for  the  laborers  of  the 
world.     According  to  the  theory  of  our  laws,  slavery 

1  In  fact,  not  only  were  working-men  ;\ctually  excluded  from  citlzensliip  in 
many  of  the  ancient  States,  but  even  specula'iive  tliinkirs.  like  Aristotle,  lielcl 
thcni  to  be  naturally  incapacitated  for  its  jirivile,!^.'-  (/'",' '/<.v.  Ml,  ;).  '!  his 
prejudice  was  common  in  antiquity.    See  MunlcsqUiC  .,  I'li^fiit  dc:s  Lots,  IV.  7. 


Light  the 
jcial  con- 
ry  much 
inqucrors 
o-lish  set- 
s  encour- 
thc  most 
1  human- 
its  dcath- 
•Id  by  the 
]  States  ; 
al  history 
issue  de- 
,  whether 
itution  in 
3  not  sur- 
Liggle  was 
erfdom  in 

)m,  which 
avery  be- 
ground 
ny  unrea- 
Uviduals, 
ts  of  jus- 
in  which 
done  to 
rs  of  the 
s,  slavery 

citizenship  in 
\i  istoUc,  held 
III.  5).  'I'liis 
'i-w  Lois,  IV.  7. 


Is 


SOCIAL    DUTIKS. 


389 


has  given  i)lace  to  freedom  of  contract  in  reference 
to  the  terms  upon  which  the  industrial  work  of  soci- 
ety is  carried  on  ;  but  to  bring  this  change  into  com- 
plete unison  with  the  claims  of  justice,  the  laborer 
ought  to  be  made  free  in  fact  as  he  is  free  in  theory. 
]^ut  under  the  existing  organization  of  industry,  the 
laborer  is  very  far  from  enjoying  practically  the  free- 
dom which  is  accorded  to  him  theoretically  ;  and  that 
owing  to  various  causes. 

The  most  formidable  of  these  causes  is  to  be  found 
in  the  intrinsic  disadvantages  of  the  laborer's  posi- 
tion, As  a  rule,  he  is  entirely  dependent  on  his  labor 
for  the  means  of  subsistence.  He  must  therefore 
find  employment  for  his  labor  on  some  terms,  or 
starve.  If  he  hesitates  to  accept  the  terms  offered 
him,  he  knows  that  there  are  usually  plenty  of  other 
laborers  ready  to  accept  these  terms  without  hesita- 
tion, so  that  his  refusal  of  the  terms  may  leave  him 
without  the  employment  which  is  his  only  means  of 
support.  From  the  very  necessities  of  his  position, 
therefore,  it  may  be  said  that  his  contract  to  labor  is 
of  the  nature  of  ?i  forced  sale  ;  he  is  not,  in  the  fullest 
sense  of  the  term,  perfectly  free  in  making  contracts 
for  his  labor. 

To  any  one  acquainted  with  the  subject,  it  will 
readily  occur  as  a  reply  likely  to  be  made  to  the  above 
remarks,  that  the  alleged  disadvantage  in  the  labor- 
er's position  is  the  result  of  a  natural  law  of  indus- 
trial life,  —  the  Law  of  Supply  and  Demand,  —  against 
which  it  is  hopeless  to  struggle.  The  discussion  of 
this  law  would  be  out  of  place  here,  as  it  would  carry 
us  into  the  provinces  of  political  and  economical  sci- 


M 


,1  ii. 


I  III' 


fl  .  ■ 


I  f 


W 


.ni^i:!l: 


290 


AN    INTRODUCTION  TO   KTIIR'S. 


i 


11 

1 

1 

1, 

k       ' 

:ii\ 

cncc  ;  but  the  aspect  in  which  it  requires  to  be  con- 
sidered here,  docs  not  take  us  beyond  the  domain  of 
ICthics.  The  nature  of  this  law  is  very  often  mis- 
understood in  a  way  that  affects  prejudicially  the 
moral  convictions  and  actions  of  men.  Without  per- 
haps explicitly  saying  it  or  even  thinking  it,  there  is 
evidently  in  many  minds  an  undercurrent  of  indis- 
tinctly conceived  thought,  that  the  Law  of  Supply 
and  Demand  is  not  only  a  natural^  but  also  a  moral, 
law ;  that  it  points  not  only  to  the  natural  tendency 
of  certain  motives  whe;  unchecked  by  others,  but 
also  to  those  motives  by  wnich  men  ought  to  be  gov- 
erned in  their  industrial  relations  with  one  another. 
It  is  worth  while  to  bring  this  indistinct  conception 
into  clear  consciousnes.^  ;  for  surely  nothing  but  a 
clear  consciousness  of  its  drift  is  required  to  excite 
a  revolt  from  it  in  every  mind  of  unperverted  moral 
sensibility.  To  say  that  a  man  is  morally  bound,  or 
even  morally  allowed,  to  take  the  utmost  advantage 
of  his  natural  position  in  cc  itracting  with  others,  is 
simply  to  abrogate  the  moral  law,  and  to  set  up  the 
reign  of  might  over  right.  It  is  evident  that  human 
beings,  who  are  star  ing  for  lack  of  bread,  will  in 
general  consent  to  labor  on  any  terms  that  will  secure 
them  from  starvation  ;  and  it  was  owing  to  this  pitia- 
ble necessity,  that  in  former  times  it  was  quite  com- 
mon for  mxcn  to  contract  themselves  and  their  wives 
and  children  into  slavery. 

It  may  be  said  that  a  contract  of  slavery  is  forbid- 
den by  the  laws  of  all  civilized  nations,  while  they 
allow  an  employer  to  force  down  the  remuneration 
of  his  employees  to  the  lowest  rate  at  which  they  a^'c 


)  be  con- 
omain  of 
ftcn  mis- 
cially  the 
hoiit  per- 
;,  there  is 
of  indis- 
Df  Supply 

0  a  morale 
tendency 

thers,  but 
to  be  gov- 
e  another. 
;onception 
ling  but  a 

1  to  excite 
•ted  moral 

bound,  or 
advantage 
others,  is 
set  up  the 
lat  human 
id,  will  in 
will  secure 
this  pitia- 
uite  com- 
leir  wives 

is  forbid- 
ivhile  they 
luneration 
h  they  a'-e 


SCKIAL    DUTIKS. 


291 


willing  to  work.  ]'ut  in  former  cimes  a  contract  of 
slavery  was  perfectly  allowable  by  law ;  and  the 
employer,  who  bargained  for  the  enslavement  of  a 
laborer,  could  plead,  with  as  thorough  truth  as  his 
successor  of  the  present  day,  that  he  was  simply 
yielding  to  the  natural  Law  of  Supply  and  Demand. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  th  U,  under  the  impulse  of 
the  distresses  to  which  millions  of  laborers  in  our 
day  are  perpetually  exposed,  many  would  willingly 
offer  to  be  sold  into  slavery  rather  than  die  of  starva- 
tion ;  and  were  it  not  prevented  by  law,  this  degrad- 
ing offer  would  be  accepted  still.  It  may  not  be 
possible,  at  least  just  yet,  to  devise  any  legal  expedi- 
ent by  which  a  ruthless  employer  can  be  prevented 
from  beating  down  wages  to  the  starvation  point; 
but  legislation  has  already  interfered  effectively  with 
the  unrestricted  operation  ^f  the  Law  of  Supply  and 
Demand,  not  only  in  prohibiting  contracts  of  slavery, 
but  in  prescribing  the  terms  on  which  children  and 
women  may  contract  to  labor,  as  well  as  in  various 
other  regulations  with  regard  lo  the  conditions  on 
which  the  work  of  the  world  must  be  carried  on. 
The  truth  is,  that,  without  being  restrained  by  legis- 
lation, employers  do  not  as  a  rule  throw  aside  all  the 
motives  of  a  kindlier  justice,  in  order  to  snatch  the 
fullest  advantage  they  can  legally  take  of  the  necessi- 
ties to  which  their  employees  are  subject ;  and  even 
after  legal  restraints  have  been  made  as  complete  as 
they  are  ever  likely  to  be,  it  will  still  remain  neces- 
sary to  call  into  play  the  force  of  moral  conviction, 
in  order  to  secure  for  those  who  must  give  daily  labor 
for  their  daily  bread  the  freedom  in  contracting,  which 


'1 

1    1 

!»' 

' '  1  h: 

.   1      ■ 

>! 


:fl 


M 


n'\ 


Hi 


1 


m 


I 


292 


AN    INTRODUCTION    TO    KTIII'JS. 


is  enjoyed  by  persons  in  possession  of  accumulated 
wealth. 

This  particular  application  of  the  obligations  of 
freedom  has  been  explained  at  scmie  length,  in  order 
to  indicate  some  of  the  directions  in  which  a  fuller 
recognition  of  these  obligations  might  be  expectec' 
with  the  advance  of  moral  culture.  The  explanation 
may  possibly  suggest  other  directions  in  which  the 
same  expansion  of  moral  consciousness  is  to  be  de- 
sired, especially  in  regard  to  laborers.  For  there  are 
various  causes,  besides  the  natural  disabilities  of  their 
position,  that  prevent  laborers  from  enjoying  perfect 
freedom.  Custom,  for  example,  has  in  all  communi- 
ties crystallized  into  hard  restrictions  that  often 
prevent  individuals,  and  even  whole  classes,  from 
engaging  in  employments  which  are  perfectly  inno- 
cent or  even  honorable,  and  for  which  they  may  be 
peculiarly  qualified  by  natural  or  acquired  aptitudes. 
This  is  particularly  the  case  with  regard  to  women, 
and  most  particularly  with  regard  to  women  above 
the  lower  ranks  of  society.  The  daughter  of  a  work- 
ing-man, indeed,  is  usually  brought  up  to  support 
herself  in  a  style  not  disproportioned  to  that  which 
she  may  have  been  used  to  in  her  father's  house  ;  so 
that,  even  if  she  remains  unmarried,  her  father's 
disability  or  death  does  not  take  away  from  her 
the  means  of  support.  But  how  has  society  usually 
brought  up  the  young  lady,  whose  father  expects  to 
be  able  to  maintain  her  till  she  is  married,  or  perhaps 
as  long  as  she  lives  .-'  It  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that, 
till  comparatively  recent  times  at  least,  the  whole 
traininii:  of  a  woman  in  such  circumstances  has  been 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


293 


nuikitcd 

tions  of 
in  order 
a  fuller 
Lixpected 
)U\nation 
hich  the 
to  be  de- 
there  are 
s  of  their 
g  perfect 
:ommiini- 
lat    often 
scs,  from 
ctly  inno- 
y  may  be 
aptitudes, 
o  women, 
len  above 
f  a  work- 
support 
|hat  which 
bouse  ;  so 
r  father's 
from   her 
;ty  usually 
lexpects  to 
r  perhaps 
say,  that, 
|the  whole 
has  been 


calculated  to  exclude  from  her  mind  the  idea  that 
she  should  ever  look  forward  to  the  use  of  her  '  accom- 
plishments "  for  the  purpose  of  self-support.  The 
result  has  been  that  e"cial  sentiment  has  hitherto 
been  almost  as  pov/erful  as  the  prejudices  of  caste  in 
excluding  women  from  many  of  the  more  remunera- 
tive industries  of  life,  for  which  they  are  by  no  means 
disqualified  by  nature.  But  here,  again,  it  is  a  hope- 
ful sign  of  the  expansion  of  moral  consciousness  in 
the  direction  indicated,  that  the  unreasonable  pride 
of  class  distinctions  is  dissolving,  i;3w]yit  maybe, 
but  surely,  before  the  more  generous  sentiment  of 
rightful  freedom. 

There  is  one  other  direction  in  which  this  senti- 
ment still  requires  to  gain  force,  though  it  may,  per- 
haps fairly,  be  regarded  as  less  important.  The  right 
to  labor  at  any  occupation  which  does  not  encroach 
upon  the  r'ghts  of  others  is,  of  course,  more  essen- 
tial to  human  welfare,  and  even  to  human  existence, 
than  the  right  to  enjoy  Lhc  pleasures  we  prefer. 
There  is  always,  however,  a  tendency  in  the  undevel- 
oped moral  consciousness  to  think  ^h-^.t  what  an  indi- 
vidual prohibits  to  himself  he  may  also  reasonably 
prohibit  to  others,  even  though  their  enjoyment  of 
it  does  not  in  any  way  interfere  with  his  rights  or 
the  rights  of  any  human  being.  This  has  been  a 
prominent  featu'"'^  of  asceticism  in  all  ages,  and  it 
assumed  appalling  proportions  in  the  great  Puritan 
movement,  to  which  it  formed  an  unfortunate  ad- 
junct, crippling  and  concealing  what  was  by  far  the 
most  important  drift  of  the  movement  as  an  earnest 
and  powerful  assertion  of  freedom. 


:|.| 


294 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO  KTIIICS. 


I  f 


l-f 


/  , 


But  of  course  all  assertions  of  freedom  mu^:t  be 
restricted  by  the  qualification  which  has  been  all 
along  implied  or  expressed  in  this  discussion,  that  ao 
man  has  a  right  to  infringe  upon  the  rights  of  othej's. 
Real  liberty,  that  is,  equal  liberty  to  all,  is  possible 


only  when  it  does  not  degenerate  into  a  lie 


chat 


restricts  the  freedom  of  some.  Now,  among  the 
forms  of  license  which  are  peculiarly  detrimental  to 
society,  two  deserve  special  condemnation  :  one  is 
connected  with  the  more  serious  occupations  of  life, 
—  idleness;  the  other,  with  life's  enjoyments, — 
luxury. 

I.  Idleness  may  be  called  the  luxury  of  the  poor, 
that  is,  of  those  who  from  want  of  accumulated 
wealth  require  to  labor  for  their  daily  bread.  It  is 
not,  indeed,  to  be  assumed  that  an  idle  life  is  just  for 
any  human  being;  but  the  injury  done  to  others  by 
idleness  is  peculiarly  obtrusive  in  the  case  of  the 
laborer,  because  clearly,  if  he  does  not  labor  for  his 
own  sustenance,  he  must  draw  upon  the  fruits  of  the 
labor  of  others,  either  by  beggary  or  by  theft.  This 
is  so  evident  that  in  most  civilized  communities  idle- 
ness is  condemned,  not  only  by  educated  moral  sen- 
timent, but  by  some  measure  of  Law.  Among 
ancient  Pagans,  it  was  punished  with  death  by  the 
Egyptians,  and  by  the  legislation  of  Solon  in  Athens. ^ 
It  was  also  a  crime  in  Peru,  obviously  as  a  conse- 
quence of  the  Imperial  Socialism,  by  which  the 
unique  civilization  of  that  country  was  distinguished.^ 
In  early  and  mediccval  Christendom  a  healthy  senti- 

1  Grote's  History  of  Greece,  Vol.  III.  p.  426  (Ainer.  ed.). 

2  Prescott's  History  of  tlic  Covqucst  of  Peru,  Book  I.  chapter  ii. 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


295 


miu.t  be 
been  all 
,  that  no 
f  others. 

possible 

what 

lonjj;   the 

lental  to 

:  one  is 
s  of  life, 
nents,  — 

the  poor, 
urn  111  at  ed 
id.     It  is 
s  just  for 
)thers  by 
e   of   the 
r  for  his 
s  of  the 
t.     This 
ies  idle- 
lOral  sen- 
Among; 
by  the 
Athens.i 
a  conse- 
hich   the 
guished.2 
;hy  senti- 

lapter  ii. 


ment  in  opposition  to  idleness  was  thwarted,  partly 
by  the  aneient  prejudiee  against  labor,  i)artly  by  the 
sentiment  of  charity,  whose  expansion  under  Chris- 
tian teaching  has  had  a  most  beneficent  effect  in 
develoi)ing  the  gentler  virtues  of  human  character. 
The  intluence  of  some  Cliristian  moralists,  and  espe- 
cially of  the  Benedictine  order,  in  removing  the 
prejudice  against  labor,  and  conferring  upon  it  a 
certain  sacredness,  was  far  more  than  counteracted 
by  the  teachers  who  inculcated,  and  the  monastic 
orders  who  practised,  mendicancy  as  a  peculiar  grace 
of  the  religious  life.  The  appalling  injuries  inflicted 
upon  the  economy  of  society  by  this  perverted  reli- 
gious sentiment,  were  met  by  numerous  legal  expe- 
dients ;  but  these  were  of  course,  in  a  large  measure, 
ineffectual  as  long  as  the  sentiment  retained  force. 
They  afford,  however,  to  some  extent,  an  historical 
explanation  of  the  ruthlessness  with  which,  in  Prot- 
estant countries,  the  monasteries  were  swept  away 
at  the  period  of  the  Reformation.^  At  the  present 
day  society  still  tries  to  cope  with  the  evil  by  laws 
against  vagrancy  ;  and  only  those  who  take  a  practi- 
cal interest  in  social  reform  have  any  adequate  con- 
ception of  the  enormous  burden  imposed  upon  the 
industry  of  the  world  by  the  vast  army  of  idlers  in 
every  community,  who  prefer  living  by  beggary  or 
crime  to  a  life  of  honest  labor. 

2.  The  other  form  of  license  akin  to  idleness  is 
luxHjy.  It  is  not  necessary  to  explain  jither  the 
causes  or  the  effects  of  this  indulgence.  It  is  sufifi- 
ciently  evident  that  it  springs  from   passions  which 

1  Lccky's  History  of  Europca)i  Mora's,  Vol.  II.  pp.  99-104. 


M 


11 


Il 


hi    I 


jf' 


Jl 


' 


296 


A\    INTRnnrrTlOX  TO   i/niics. 


exercise  a  powerful  sway  over  the  human  mind,  and 
require  to  be  kept  under  ri^L;id  control  in  order  to 
moral  welfare.  It  is  also  evident  that  the  inordinate 
indulgence  of  these  passions  tends  to  intensify  their 
influence  over  the  individual,  and  to  expose  him  to 
all  the  dangers  of  excess ;  and  it  is  evident  still 
further  that  the  effects  of  immoderate  luxury  upon 
society  are,  economically  as  well  as  morally,  disas- 
trous. These  moral  and  economical  evils  of  luxury 
have  been  so  obtrusive  in  actual  life,  that  legislators 
in  the  past  have  frequently  endeavored  to  check  them 
by  the  class  of  enactments  commonly  known  as 
Sumptuary  Laws.^  lUit  at  the  present  day  legisla- 
tion in  this  direction  has  been  generally  abandoned, 
and  the  regulation  of  luxurious  indulgences  has  been 
left  to  the  force  of  moral  conviction. 

This,  however,  renders  it  only  the  more  imperative 
to  cultivate  a  high  standard  of  justice  in  reference  to 
such  indulgences,  It  is  of  course  difficult,  perhaps 
impossible,  to  lay  down  a  hard  and  fast  definition 
which  will  always  separate  unjust  luxuries  from  those 
that  are  legitimate.  But  that  is  not  an  unfair  dis- 
tinction which  brings  unjust  luxuries  into  the  same 
category  of  wrongs  with  the  idleness  of  the  poor. 
A  luxury  is  always  unjust  for  which  the  self-indulgent 
compel  others  to  pay ;  and  therefore  the  man  who 
continues,  year  in  and  year  out,  as  long  as  laws  and 
usages  allow,  to  live  beyond   his    income,  must    be 

1  Reseller's  Political  Ecoiomy  (Book  IV.  cliapter  ii.)  gives  some  account 
of  Sumptuary  Legislation,  with  references  to  sources  of  more  detailed  infor- 
mation. The  subject  is  also  taken  up  in  Montesquieu's  LEprit  dcs  Lois, 
Book  VII. 


lind,  and 
order  to 
lordinatc 
sify  tlicir 
J  him  to 
lent  still 
ury  upon 
ly,  disas- 
)f  luxury 
jgislators 
eck  them 
novvn  as 
y  legisla- 
landoned, 
has  been 

nperative 
rence  to 
perhaps 
finition 
3m  those 
fair  dis- 
le  same 
le  poor, 
ndulgent 
an  who 
aws  and 
nust    be 

ime  account 
tailed  infor- 
■ii  dcs  Lois, 


lei 


SOCIAI,    Dl    IIKS.  297 

consigned  to  the  same  moral  category  with  the 
vagrant  who  lives  by  beggary  or  theft. 

(/?)  Justice  ill  Reference  to  Mental  Life.  —  Merc,  as 
in  the  case  of  the  body,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind 
that  life  is  more  than  bare  existence :  it  is  activity. 
Accordingly  justice  demands  the  avoidance,  not  only 
(I.)  of  any  injury  to  the  mind  of  another,  but  also 
(II.)  of  any  unreasonable  interference  with  his  mental 
freedom, 

I.  The  obligation  to  avoid  injuring  the  mind  of 
any  one  prohibits  even  culpable  neglect,  that  is,  it 
imposes  a  positive  duty  to  provide  for  the  mental 
well-being  of  those  who  may  be  dependent  on  us  for 
their  culture.  This  is  specially  the  duty  of  parents, 
guardians,  teachers,  lecturers,  authors  ;  but  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  it  falls  upon  all  men,  because  every  one 
exerts  a  certain  influence  for  good  or  evil  on  the 
minds  of  others,  l^ut  the  largest  branch  of  this 
obligation  is  rather  the  negative  duty  to  refrain  from 
any  corrupting  influence  upon  the  intelh^ctual  or 
moral  life,  as  well  as  from  offensive  words  or  actions 
which  give  unnecessary  pain  to  honorable  or  sacred 
sentiments  of  the  human  mind.  The  protection  of 
men  from  such  injuries  is  so  obviously  just,  and  even 
so  obviously  essential  to  the  well-being  of  society, 
that  it  has  been  provided  by  legal  enactments  in 
various  forms,  such  as  the  laws  against  libellous  and 
immoral  and  blasphemous  publications. 

But  the  most  specific  obligation  coming  under  this 
head  is  that  of  trutlifulness  or  veracity.  The  precise 
position  which  this  obligation  should  occupy  in  the 
classification  of    duties  has    indeed    been  matter  of 


298 


AN   INTRODUCTION      O  ETHICS. 


M 


u.  rt 


ram 


I 'I 


iv 


controversy.  Kant  regards  the  injury  done  by  a  lie 
as  merely  an  incidental  result  in  its  moral  aspect, 
though  he  admits  that  in  a  legal  aspect  this  injury 
is  the  essential  wrong  involved  ;  the  moral  wrongness 
of  a  lie  he  finds  rather  in  the  disregard  which  the 
liar  exhibits  for  the  worth  of  humanity  in  his  own 
person  ^  This  is  certainly  a  valid  aspect  of  a  lie  ; 
but  every  wrong  action  recoils  in  the  same  way  upon 
the  agent  by  degrading  his  moral  worth  ;  while  ve- 
racity involves  a  necessary  reference  to  others,  so 
that  it  cannot  be  treated  as  a  purely  personal  obliga- 
tion, but  is  essentially  social.  Others,  again,  like 
Dugald  Stewart,^  while  classifying  truthfulness  among 
our  social  duties,  assign  to  it  a  distinct  position,  co- 
ordinate with,  but  independent  of,  justice  and  benevo- 
lence. But  a  real  lie  is  alwa}  s  spoken  with  intention 
to  deceive,  and  the  mind  that  is  deceived  suffers  an 
injury  by  the  deceit.  A  lie,  therefore,  as  it  inflicts 
an  intentional  injury  on  the  person  to  whom  it  is 
spoken,  is  essentially  a  violation  of  justice.^ 

At  the  same  time  there  is  this  of  truth  in  the  doc- 
trine of  Kant,  that  veracity  seems  to  be  connected, 
in  a  peculiarly  intimate  manner,  with  that  sentiment 
of  honor,  that  self-respect,  that  reverence  for  the 
worth  of  humanity  in  one's  own  person,  which  forms 
an  essential  factor  of  all  virtue.  And  therefore  we 
cannot  be  surprised  at  the  lofty  place  which  has  been 
commonly  accorded  to  a  frank  and  fearless  regard 
for  truth  among  the  elements  of  a  noble  moral  char- 

1  Kant's  Werkc,  \'ol.  III.  pp.  234-23S  (Hartcnstein's  ed.). 

2  Works,  Vol.  III.  lip.  274-2S2  (Hamilton's  cd.). 

3  Tjiis  viow  is  ancient.     See  tiio  h'-.;inniii'j  of  Plato's  Republic.     Compare 

I''o\vle.'N  r>iii.<l!.-     ''  yf'^rnls    \   I,  •'    ;     1 -i  . 


SOCIAL  DUTIES. 


299 


by  a  lie 
aspect, 
,  injury 
:)ngness 
lich  the 
lis  own 
I  a  lie  ; 
ay  upon 
hile  ve- 
iiers,  so 
obliga- 
lin,  like 
3  among 
tion,  co- 
bcnevo- 
itention 
[fcrs  an 
inflicts 
m   it  is 

he  doc- 

nected, 

atiment 

:or   the 

I  forms 
ore  we 
as  been 

res^ard 

II  char- 


es ompare 


acter.  In  the  moral  code  of  the  ancient  Persians, 
we  are  told  by  Herodotus,^  veracity  was  the  supreme 
virtue,  and  the  greatest  disgrace  was  to  tell  a  lie. 
This  may  have  been  merely  an  adventitious  exalta- 
tion of  the  virtue ;  but  certainly  the  want  of  truth- 
ful candor  is  one  of  the  most  evident  proofs  of  a 
radical  moral  weakness,  while  hope  may  well  be  cher- 
ished still  for  the  reformation  of  any  man  whose 
moral  force  retains  this  central  stronghold,  even 
though  it  may  have  sustained  many  a  humiliating 
defeat  at  the  outposts  of  sense. 

It  is  strange,  that,  with  all  the  clearness  and  im- 
portance attaching  to  the  general  principle  of  truth- 
fulness, its  special  application  should  have  been 
sometimes  involved  in  all  the  confusions  of  a  per- 
plexing casuistry.  In  fact  the  right,  which  is  claimed 
by  some,  to  disregard  the  truth  on  certain  occasions, 
has  formed  a  favorite  field  of  casuistical  controversy. 
In  such  controversy  two  extreme  positions  have  been'^ 
taken  up,  which,  in  view  of  their  respective  tenden- 
cies, may  be  described  as  Stoical  and  Utilitarian.^ 
The  former,  which  has  been  prominently  represented 
by  Kant,  recognizes  no  end  superior  to  truth,  and 
therefore  admits  no  departure  from  it  in  any  circum- 
stances. The  latter,  degrading  truthful  expression 
into  a  mere  means  for  the  attainment  of  ends  be- 
yond itself,  allows  a  departure  from  truth  with  a  view 
to  such  ends.  This  doctrine  has  been  most  promi- 
nently associated  with  the  sect  of  the  Jesuits,  but  it 
is  apt  to  become  a  more  or  less  avowed  principle  of 
extreme  partisanship  in  every  sect. 

In  this  controversy  it  must  always  be  kept  in  view, 

1  1. 139. 


!* 


'\y 


1 

i:' 

■ 

tr.. 


i-i  ! 


■t. 

x 
4: 

<  **    ; 

1 

\IH  '       "1 

•'■  \  '■ 

IK  1  i  ■    ! 

■! 

If  iff  ' 

i 

)    ! 

■ 

300 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


that  the  moral  guilt  of  a  lie  consists  in  the  intention  ^ 
to  deceive.     Accordingly  it  would  be  unfair  to  char- 
acterize as  a  lie,  any  expression  like  a  jest  or  a  fig- 
ure of  speech,  or  a  conventional  phrase  of  courtesy, 
which,  although  literally  untrue,  is  neither  intended  ^ 
nor  calculated  to  convey  an  untruth  to  any  intelligent 
mind.     On  the  other  hand,  every  mode  of  expression 
incurs  the  essential  guilt  of  lying,  if  it  is  used  with  ^ 
the  intention  of  suggesting  an  untrue  meaning,  even 
though  it  may  be  strictly  true  in  its  grammatical  con- 
struction.    In  fact,  the  moral  judgment  of  mankind 
has  always  gone  out  with  fiercest  indignation  against 
expressions  which  convey  an  untrue  meaning  in  a 
true  form  of  words.     For 

"  A  lie  that  is  all  a  lie  may  be  met  and  fought  with  outright, 
But  a  lie  that  is  half  a  truth  is  a  harder  matter  to  fight." 

This  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  the  application  of 
these  general  principles  to  particular  cases  ;  but  it 
may  be  observed,  that,  if  Stoical  scrupulosity  is  in  this  i 
matter  ever  actually  carried  to  an  impracticable  ex- 
treme, its  errors  are  infinitely  less  prejudicial,  both 
to  personal  and  to  social  morality,  than  a  laxity  which 
would  lower  the  moral  value  of  perfect  candor,  or 
weaken  the  confidence  which  honorable  men  repose 
in  their  communications  to  one  another.^ 

1  English  literature  affords  an  interesting  contrast  between  two  pictures 
which  represent  tlie  opposite  extremes  of  moral  principle  in  regard  tu  veracity. 
One  is  taken  from  the  circle  of  Scottish  Puritanism ;  it  is  tlie  well-known 
story  of  Jeanie  Deans  in  T/ic  Heart  of  Midlothian.  The  other  is  from  Irish 
Catholicism ;  it  is  the  story  narrated  in  a  very  touching  lyric  of  Adelaide 
Procter's,  Milly's  Expiation.  Milly  is,  in  her  general  unselfishness,  not  un- 
like the  Scottish  heroine;  on  the  whole,  even  more  attractive  by  a  gentleness 
which  contrasts  with  the  severity  of  the  other ;  but,  to  save  her  lover  from  the 
scaffold,  she  enters  the  witness-box  and  deliberately  commits  perjury.  I  con- 
fess tliat  to  me,  the  poem,  with  all  its  pathos,  is  morally  enervating.  Its  effect 
certainly  contrasts  with  the  moral  invigoration  of  Scott's  noble  tale. 


\ 


,fj ', 


tention  <j 
.0  char- 
Dr  a  fig- 
)urtcsy, 
itenclcd »/ 
clligcnt 
)rcssion 
ed  with'' 
g,  even 
cal  con- 
lankind 
against 
ng  in  a 

It." 

ation  of 

but  it 

in  this  I 

ble  ex- 

1,  both 

which 

dor,  or 

repose 


lo  pictures 

\o  veracity, 
^•ell-known 
from  Irish 
Adelaide 
ks,  not  un- 
Kentlcness 
from  the 
|y.     1  con- 
Its  effect 


SOCIAl     DUTIES. 


^01 


Before  leaving  the  subject  of  veracity,  a  rcniark 
seems  called  for  to  explain  how  its  obligation  is 
affected  by  taking  an  oath.  In  no  country  have  the 
laws  ever  attempted  to  enforce  the  speaking  of  the 
truth  on  all  occasions  :  but  there  are  circumstances 
in  which  the  interests  of  society  render  it  peculiarly 
necessary  that  the  truth  should  be  ascertained  ;  and 
consequently  the  obligation  to  tell  the  truth  is  not 
left  to  the  influence  of  moral  conviction  alone,  it  is 
made  a  A^'v?/ obligation.  This  is  done  by  the  artifice 
of  an  oath,  under  which  a  deceitful  statement,  or  a 
refusal  to  make  the  truth  known,  becomes  a  punish- 
able offence.  But  the  moral  obligation  to  speak  the 
truth  is  neither  increased  nor  diminished  by  such  an 
artifice.  This  is  obviously  the  purport  of  the  famous 
passage  on  swearing,  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount, ^ 
which  has  been  the  subject  of  a  great  deal  of  theo- 
logical controversy  ;  it  is  simply  an  application  of 
the  general  teaching  of  the  Sermon,  that  the  highest 
moralitv  will  not  be  satisfied  with  fulfilling  the  bare 
letter  of  legal  enactments,  but  will  seek  to  realize  the 
spirit  which  these  embody.  Among  persons  of  ob- 
scure moral  intelligence,  both  in  the  present  and  the 
past,  many  may  be  found  for  whom  the  enlighten- 
ment Oi  this  teaching  is  peculiarly  required,  —  men 
in  whom  no  sentiment  of  obligation  to  speak  the 
truth  can  be  awakened,  except  by  punctiliously  en- 
forcing even  the  most  trivial  formalities  in  the  admin- 
istration of  an  oath.^     As   in   other  spheres  of  the 

1  Matt.  V.  33-37. 

2  A  curious  phase  of  morality  and  legislation  is  presented  in  the  Laws  of 
Menu,  specifying  certain  cases  in  whicli  even  perjury  is  not  only  allowed,  but 
dncctly  encouraged.     See  Mill's  British  India,  Vol.  I.  pp.  238,  239. 


I  i 


i    i 


f     !■  I 


302 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    KTIIICS. 


moral  life,  however,  so  here,  enlightenment  of  the 
conscience  frees  men  ever  more  and  more  from  slav- 
ish respect  for  the  particular  form  of  an  action,  and 
leads  them  to  reverence  rather  the  universal  spirit  of 
morality  which  it  embodies.  This  advance  of  moral 
culture  also  increases  the  confidence  which  men  repose 
in  one  another,  and  renders  it  ever  more  easy  for  them 
to  conduct  even  the  most  important  transactions  of 
society  without  the  precaution  of  oaths. ^ 

II.  But  the  just  claims  of  mental  life  involve  the 
right  of  free  mental  activity.  Like  every  other  form 
of  real  freedom,  this  implies  the  use  of  our  powers 
in  any  way  we  please,  so  long  as  we  do  not  invade 
the  rights  of  others.  Now,  notwithstanding  all  that 
has  been  done  and  suffered  by  the  martyrs  of  free- 
dom, there  is  no  secure  ground  for  believing  that 
this  right  has  been  established  beyond  the  possibility 
of  danger.  Eternal  vigilance,  it  has  been  said,  is  the 
price  of  freedom  ;  and  even  with  such  vigilance  the 
world  may  yet  be  called  to  face  a  great  struggle  for  in- 
tellectual freedom  against  the  power  of  despotic  gov- 
ernments or  equally  despotic  mobs.  It  is  therefore 
well  to  make  clear  the  ground  of  reason,  on  which  the 
claim  for  this  form  of  freedom  rests.  Intellectual 
liberty  may  be  considered  in  its  bare  abstractness, 
or  in  connection  with  the  accompaniment  of  free  ex- 
pression, by  which  aloue  it  can  attain  full  concrete 
realization. 

I.    In  the  abstract,  freedom  of   mind  is  a  reality 

1  Shakespeare  has  finely  touched  tlie  jnirest  spirit  of  Christ"an  morality  in 
reference  to  oaths.  In  JiiHiis  Cicsar  (Act  II.  So.  i),  wiien  Casca  proposes 
that  the  conspirators  should  '•  swear  their  resolution,"  Brutus  replies  in  the 
noble  words  beginning,  •'  No,  not  an  oath,"  etc. 


of  the 
im  slav- 
on,  and 
jpirit  of 
f  moral 
1  repose 
or  them 
tions  of 

Dive  the 
ler  form 
powers 
;  invade 
all  that 
of  free- 
ng  that 
ssibility 
is  the 
nee  the 
c  for  in- 
)tic  gov- 
icrcfore 
Ihich  the 
;llcctual 
lactness, 
I  free  ex- 
;oncrete 

reality 

Imorality  in 
[a  proposes 
Llies  in  the 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


303 


which  cannot  be  assailed  by  any  material  force.  True, 
force  —  torture  —  may  wring  from  a  man  words  stat- 
ing that  he  believes  a  doctrine,  but  no  sheer  force 
can  malvc  him  really  believe  it.  The  only  power  by 
which  reason  can  be  led  to  apprehend  a  doctrine,  is 
reason  itself ;  error  can  be  banished  only  by  com- 
mending the  truth  to  reason  in  such  a  way  that  it 
can  be  clearly  understood.  All  the  machinery,  there- 
fore, by  which  persecutors  have  attempted  to  force 
doctrines  upon  the  minds  of  men,  is  simply  an  at- 
tempt to  carry  physical  agency  into  a  sphere  in  which 
it  is  powerless.  It  is  like  an  effort  to  sweep  back  the 
flood  of  sunlight  with  a  broom. 

But  such  attempts  exert  a  disastrous  influence  over 
the  mind.  The  function  of  mind  is  to  discover  the 
truth,  and  to  govern  the  whole  life  by  such  discovery. 
It  is  therefore  of  supreme  importance  that  in  all  in- 
quiries the  mind  should  be  biassed  by  no  motive  but 
the  love  of  truth.  There  are,  under  the  most  favor- 
able circumstances,  too  many  influences  of  unreason- 
ing passion,  tending  to  darken  and  mislead  the  mind 
in  its  pursuit  of  truth  ;  and  it  is  simply  an  invention 
of  unreason  to  add  to  these  influences  the  cerrors  of 
bodily  torture  for  the  purpose  of  scaring  the  mind 
from  seeking  the  truth  in  any  particular  direction. 

2.  But  freedom  remains  an  unreal  abstraction  in 
mental  life,  unless  it  is  embodied  in  the  right  of 
freely  expressing  opinion.  Here,  however,  the  re- 
striction of  freedom  is  not,  on  the  face  of  it,  an 
irrational  attempt.  Expression,  being  a  physical 
action,  can  of  course  be  restrained  by  adequate 
physical  force.     It  is  in  this  way,  therefore,  that  an 


i! 


I ; 


•!■ 


\% 


HI 


^f* 


k-n 


^iii; 


ifji 


;i 


,<i 


mmm 


304 


AN    INTRODUCTION  To    KTIIICS. 


irrational  tlcsp.)tism  has  [generally  sought  to  strike  at 
the  freedom  of  mind.  And  the  attack  is  cunningly 
aimed.  For  by  .ar  the  most  powerful  stimulus  to 
mental  development  is  the  communication  of  mind 
with  mind  ;  and  nothing  can  so  completely  paralyze 
the  freedom  of  intellectual  growth  as  the  fettering 
of  this  communication.  Freedom  of  intellectual 
intercourse  is,  therefore,  indispensable  to  the  discov- 
ery of  truth,  and  the  loss  to  the  world  is  irreparable 
when  the  mental  energy  of  men  in  general  collapses 
into  a  deathly  languor  by  the  stimulating  voices  of 
the  great  teachers  being  silenced.  Yet  the  rulers 
of  the  world  have  been  slow  to  recognize  this  fact. 
In  all  ages,  and  under  all  forms  of  civilization,  the 
activity  of  truth-seekers  has  been  crippled,  and  their 
utternnces  have  been  stifled,  by  the  oppression  of 
unreasoning  prejudice.  Perhaps  the  most  painiul 
tragedies  in  the  whole  history  of  the  world  are  those 
martyrdoms  in  which  men  of  uncommon  moral  nobil- 
ity have  been  doomed  to  death,  avowedly  for  no 
crime  but  that  of  loving  the  truth. 

Unfortunately,  notwithstanding  the  spiritual  char- 
acter of  its  general  influence,  Christianity  failed  to 
relax,  but  perhaps,  on  the  whole,  tended  to  tighten, 
the  restrictions  which  Pagan  governments  had  put 
on  the  freedom  of  inquiry  and  of  its  literary  exposi- 
tion. Even  the  great  revolt  of  the  sixteenth  century 
against  the  spiritual  tyranny  of  the  Church  did  not 
bring  with  it  at  once  any  strong  sentiment  in  favor 
of  intellectual  and  literary  freedom.  Generally  the 
Reformed  governments  took  into  their  own  hands 
the  censorship  of  the  press,  which  had  before  been 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


305 


(!' 


itrikc  at 
nningly 
lulus  to 
Df  mind 
paralyze 
"cttcring 
ellcctual 
e  discov- 
•cparable 
collapses 
v'oices  of 
le  rulers 
this  fact, 
ition,  the 
and  their 
cssion   of 

painitd 
are  those 
ral  nobil- 

for   no 

lual  char- 
failed  to 
tighten, 
had  put 
•y  exposi- 
|i  century 
did  not 
in  favor 
;rally  the 
n  hands 
:orc  been 


exercised  by  the  Church.  It  was  not  till  the  middle 
of  the  following  century,  that  the  first  clear  voice  was 
heard  protesting  against  the  baneful  influence  of  the 
fetters  by  which  the  censorshij)  cramped  the  higher 
life  of  the  world.  In  1644  the  Arcopagitka  of  Milton 
gave  utterance,  in  language  which  has  never  been 
excelled,  to  the  full  demands  of  rational  freedom. 
The  glorious  eloquence  of  the  great  poet  must  either 
have  resounded  in  too  lofty  a  sphere  to  be  heard  by 
his  contemporaries,  or  have  been  drowned  amid  the 
din  oT  their  conflict ;  for  it  failed  to  produce  any 
effect  at  the  time.  But  half  a  century  later,  in  1695, 
a  homely,  prosaic  exposure  of  the  jobs  and  extortions 
and  other  vulgar  abuses  connected  with  the  adminis- 
tration  of  the  censorship,  satisfied  the  Commons  of 
the  Revolution,  and  led  them  to  drop  the  Act  on  the 
subject  without  any  inquiry  into  its  essential  princi- 
ple. Since  that  time  literature  has  been  practically 
unrestricted,  except  by  the  Common  Law,  in  England^ 
and  her  colonies,  as  it  is  also  in  the  United  States. 
But  in  many  countries  the  press  is  still  subject  to 
certain  restrictions  ;  and  it  is  scarcely  possible,  there- 
fore, to  feel  perfect  security  in  regard  to  the  continu- 
ance of  freedom  in  those  countries  in  which  it  has 
found  legal  recognition. 

This  dififidence  will,  \  jrhaps,  be  more  fully  justified 
in  considering  the  dependence  of  the  religious  life 
upon  freedom  of  mental  activity.  Religious  freedom 
is,  in  propriety,  merely  a  particular  phase  of  the  free- 
dom of  mind.     It  implies,  however,  besides  the  gen- 

1  Macaiilay's  History  of  E)igland,  Wo\.V\\. -p^.  167-169.  Compare  pp. 
234-237  (cd.  1S5S). 


iiitl 


3o6 


AX    IXTRODUCTIDX    TO    i:TIIirS. 


h 

I 

I'll  I '^ 


I  I 

if 


%i^ 


,  'I 


cral  liberty  of  prosecuting  and  publishing  incjuiries 
on  the  subject  of  religion,  the  special  liberty  of  act- 
ing upon  the  convictions  to  which  ^uch  incpiirics  may 
lead,  provided  of  course  such  action  does  not  encroach 
upon  the  rights  of  others.  The  particular  actions, 
to  which  religious  conviction  leads,  are  mainly  forms 
of  worship  ;  and  the  attempt  to  interfere  with  these 
is  inspired  by  the  same  system  of  thought  which 
seeks  to  restrict  the  freedom  of  the  press.  We  do 
not  recjuire  to  go  far  back  in  the  history  of  modern 
civilizations,  to  come  upon  a  time  when  the  perse- 
cution and  suppression  of  heretical  religious  sects 
formed  the  avowed  policy  of  all  governments,  Prot- 
estant and  Catholic  alike.  Moreover,  the  Catholic 
Church  has  never  disowned  its  ancient  claim,  wherever 
it  has  power,  to  restrict  intellectual  activity  within  the 
limits  of  its  own  doctrinal  system,  to  exercise  a  cen- 
sorship over  literature,  and  to  suppress  all  heretical 
forms  of  worship.  Even  in  the  best-educated  Protes- 
tant communities  also,  there  is  a  spirit  of  intolerance 
abroad,  which  might,  at  any  crisis  of  popular  excite- 
ment, find  expression  in  legislation  tending  to  wrest 
from  men  all  the  freedom  which  has  been  already 
won. 

It  cannot,  therefore,  be  assumed  that  there  is  no 
room  for  cultivating,  to  deeper  intensity  as  well  as 
to  greater  breadth,  the  moral  sentiment  of  righteous 
toleration,  by  which  alone  the  freedom  of  mental  life 
can  be  secured.  The  deeper  that  sentiment,  the 
stronger  is  the  bulwark  it  offers  against  any  attack 
upon  true  freedom.  P^or  the  indifferentism  of  free- 
thinking  has  not  always  shown   the   tolerant   spirit 


inciuincs 
y  of  act- 
iries  may 
encroach 

actions, 
ily  forms 
ith  these 
ht  which 
We  do 
f  modern 
he  persc- 
ous  sects 
;nts,  Prot- 
:  Catholic 
,  wherever 
within  the 
pse  a  cen- 

herctical 
ed  Protes- 

tolerancc 

ar  excite- 
to  wrest 

n  already 

lere  is  no 
as  well  as 
ri<jhteous 
iiental  life 
ment,  the 
my  attack 
n  of  free- 
•ant   spirit 


SOCIAI.    DUTIKS. 


307 


which  might  be  expected  to  be  its  accompaniment. 
Some  of  the  persecntions  of  the  early  Christians  were 
carried  on  under  sceptical  rulers  in  the  Roman  ICm- 
pire  ;  ^  and  the  ac^nostic  systems  of  religion,  advo- 
cated by  llobbes  and  by  Comte,  would  have  revived 
a  spiritual  tyranny  more  intolerable  than  the  most 
oppressive  Mediajvalism.  The  only  complete  security 
for  spiritual  freedom  is  a  religious  sentiment  which 
can  feel  the  sacredness  of  the  religious  sentiments 
of  others,  — a  sentiment  which  makes  it  a  sin  against 
God  to  tamper  with  the  conscientious  convictions  of 
any  man.^ 

Subsection  II.  —  Obligations  of  Justice  arising  from  Real 

Rights. 

A  real  right,  as  distinguished  from  a  personal,  is 
any' right  which  a  person  holds  over  realities,  that 
is,  over  things  outside  of  his  personality.  The  per- 
sonal rights  of  men,  as  wc  have  already  seen,  are  the 

1  On  Pa.i^an  persecutions  and  persecuting  doctrines,  sec  Lccl:y's  History 
of  European  Morals,  Vol.  I.  pji.  423-425. 

2  The  struggle  for  intellectual  and  religious  freedom  fills  a  large  space  in 
the  history  of  the  world,  and  can,  of  course,  be  studied  in  numerous  historical 
works.  So  far  as  the  development  of  thought  is  concerned,  which  led  to  rec- 
ognition of  the  rights  of  mental  freedom,  the  student  will  find  an  interesting 
sketch  in  Lecky's  History  of  Ratioiialisni,  chapters  iv.  and  v.  In  addition  to 
the  facts  of  mediaeval  history  mentioned  by  Lecky,  there  is  a  special  mono- 
graph on  the  manifestations  of  a  freer  spirit  of  speculation  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  by  a  German  scholar,  Dr.  H.  F.  Renter:  Die  Gcschichte  dcr  Rclii^ioscn 
AnfkliiriDiir  im  Miitclaltcr ;  but,  in  truth,  the  few  feeble  scintillations  of 
light  he  has  been  able  to  gather  serve  scarcely  any  purpose  beyond  that  of 
making  the  darkness  visible.  On  the  requirements  of  the  spirit  of  freedom 
in  our  own  day,  a  valuable  work  is  Bunsen's  Signs  of  the  Times,  especially 
for  Germany  and  other  countries  on  the  Continent  of  Eurojie ;  but  for  the 
English-speaking  peoples  the  most  stimulating  book  is  Mill's  On  Liberty. 
The  most  divergent  schools  of  thought  have  joined,  with  unusual  warmth  of 
language,  in  acknowledging  the  ennobling  inspiration  derived  from  this  book. 


1 1, 


30S 


AX    IXTKODrCTloN    TO   I'/rillCS. 


'I,  '-VJ 


^w: 


'i 


orijjjinal  ;  aiul  \vc  have  now  to  sec  how  real  ri<;hts 
if  row  out  of  these.  The  transition  from  the  one  class 
of  rij.;hts  to  the  other  is  not  indicated  by  the  sharp 
line  of  demarcation  by  which  they  are  separated  in 
common  thought  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  one  flows 
from  the  other  by  an  almost  imperceptible  distinc- 
tion. The  personal  and  oris.(inal  right  of  every  man 
is  his  right  over  himself,  over  the  powers  of  body 
and  mind  with  which  he  is  endowed.  But  so  far  as 
they  are  worth  claiming,  so  far  as  they  possess  the 
economical  value  of  property,  they  are  only  to  a 
limited  extent  the  original  endowments  of  his  person- 
ality ;  to  a  much  larger  extent  they  are  products  of 
education,  that  is,  of  labor  expended  on  them  by 
himself  or  by  others.  Consequently,  a  man's  powers 
are  capable  of  being  treated,  and  in  contracts  of 
service  they  are  treated  actually,  like  other  commodi- 
ties that  possess  economical  value  by  being  products 
of  labor.  In  this  aspect  a  man's  powers  form  a 
transition  between  the  purely  natural  rights  of  his 
personality  and  these  purely  acquired  rights  which 
arise  from  the  cxpcn-Mture  of  his  powers  in  the  pro- 
duction of  external  commodities.  By  such  expendi- 
ture upon  an  external  thing,  he  forms  the  same  sort 
of  relation  to  it,  the  same  sort  of  right,  as  he  holds 
to  the  powers  which  he  has  by  education  rendered 
capable  of  imparting  to  it  its  new  value.  The  addi- 
tional value  which  a  man  gives  to  anything  by  his 
labor,  may  thus  be  said  to  be  /ns  in  the  same  sense 
in  which  he  may  claim  as  his  own  the  powers  by 
which  the  new  value  has  been  created. 

In  connection  with  these  remarks  on  the  origin  of 


■1 


SOCIAL   nUTIKS. 


309 


1    rights 
nc  class 
ic  sharp 
rated  in 
ic   flows 
distinc- 
'cry  man 
of  body- 
so  far  as 
jscss  the 
nly   to   a 
is  pcrson- 
Dducts  of 
them   by 
's  powers 
^tracts  of 
ommodi- 
products 
form  a 
ts  of  his 
ts  which 
the  pro- 
expendi- 
amc  sort 
he  holds 
rendered 
he  addi- 
by  his 
Ime  sense 
owers  by 


brigm 


of 


real  rights,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  questions 
of  origin  are  twofold  ;  they  may  refer  either  to  oiigin 
in  time  or  to  origin  in  reason.     The  logical  origin 
of  real  rights,  that  is,  their  origin    in  reason,  traces 
them  back  to  the  personal  rights  of  the   laborer  by 
whom  they  have  been   created  ;  but   their  historical 
origin  —  their  origin  in  time  —  is  not  necessarily  con- 
nected with  any  labor  of  the  persons  by  whom  they 
are  now  possessed.     The  j^rimeval  origin  of  property 
in  general,  like  that  of  most  social  institutions,  van- 
ishes amid  the  dim  uncertainties  of  the  prehistoric 
past,  though  there  are  indications  that  in  primitive 
society  there  was  no  property  as  an  object  of  right 
to  individuals,  but  that   private  property  arose  with 
the  recognition  of   the  moral   independence  of   the 
individual  as  a  responsible  agent.     In  like  manner  it 
is  often  impossible  to  trace  to  their  earliest  origin 
many  of  the  rights  to  property,  which  are  held  in  all 
communities  at   the  present   day.      In   some   cases, 
indeed,  it  may  even  be  proved  that  these  rights  origi- 
nated,  at  some  more  or  l(^ss   remote  period,  in  an 
unreasonable  and  unjust  act  of  force  or  fraud.     But 
as  such  rights  are  transferred    from    generation   to 
generation,  and  as  the  history  of  such  transference 
can  seldom  be  traced  far  back,  the  first  origin  of  a 
great  deal  of  property  must  be  treated  practically  as 
unknown.     In  fact,  a  few  years,  or  even  a  few  months 
or  weeks,   may  in  many  cases  destroy  all  available 
evidence  of  the  rightfulness  of  a  man's  claim  to  his 
property ;  and  this  fact  has  been  recognized  in  every 
just  system  of  society. 

(A)    Ocru/>ancf.  —  llowcvcY  unreasonable  a   great 


'i 


■' .  I 


I  i 


i 

I 


I:  I 


310 


AN  iNTRonrcTrox  TO  r.rnirs. 


deal  of  property  may  liave  been  in  its  historical  ori- 
gin, it  would  obviously  be  still  more  unreasonable  to 
require  every  person  to  vindicate  his  right  to  his 
property  back  into  a  remote  past ;  there  must  be  a 
limit  to  such  requirements  in  reason  and  justice 
themselves.  Accordingly,  as  interpreted  both  in 
Jurisprudence  and  Morals,  justice  has  always  recog- 
nized a  ground  of  right  in  mere  occupancy  under 
certain  reasonable  restrictions.^  It  is  the  right  which 
is  known  under  the  general  title  of  Prescription.  Of 
course  such  a  right  must  be  limited  by  strict  condi- 
tions, else  proprietors  might  be  swindled  out  of  their 
property  every  day  through  ignorance  of  its  being 
occupied  by  others.  The  j^recise  conditions  neces- 
sary to  guard  against  injustice  vary  with  varying  cir- 
cumstances. The  general  condition  is  the  length  of 
time  during  which  dc  facto  possession  must  be  proved, 
though  this  varies  in  different  countries,  and  in  regard 
to  difTerent  things.  The  whole  subject  in  its  de- 
tails forms  an  extensive  theme  in  Jurisprudence,  and 
cannot  be  discussed  on  purely  ethical  grounds. 

(/>)  But  when  occupancy  is  pleaded  as  the  source 
of  proprietary  rights,  it  will  be  found,  as  a  rule,  that 
something  more  than  simple  occupancy  is  more  or 
less  obviously  implied  ;  the  occupant  is  usually  as- 
sumed to  be  using  the  thing  claimed,  that  is,  to  be 
laboring  upon  it  for  some  useful  purpose.  In  fact,  in 
many  cases  a  failure  to  use  the  thing  for  a  certain 

1  Some  old  thcorizcrs  liave  ascribed  the  first  origin  of  all  property  to  the 
occupancy  by  primitive  men  of  things  imoccupied  before;  but  tlie  tlieory  is 
woven  out  ot  unsuljstaiitial  fictions  without  tiie  nirisiest  substance  of  fact. 
See  Maine's  Auilcnt  f.,ra\  \\  2)8  (Anur.  cd.). 


jrical  ori- 
mablc  to 
It  to  his 
list  be  a 
cl   justice 

both  ill 
ys  recog- 
cy  under 
jht  which 
:ion.  Of 
ct  condi- 
t  of  their 
its  being 
IS  neces- 
•ying  cir- 
length  of 
e  proved, 
in  regard 
1  its  de- 
vice, and 
:1s. 

e  source 
"ule,  that 

more  or 
ually  as- 
is,  to  l)e 
1  fact,  in 
I  certain 

jpcrty  to  the 
tlic  tlicory  is 
ince  of  fact. 


socr.M.  DUTiKs.  31  r 

length  of  time  would  be  tantamount  to  an  interrui)- 
tion  of  the  dc  facto  possession  which  justice  retpiires. 
Accordingly,  even  when  property  is  acquired  by  occu- 
pancy, there  seems  to  be  a  tacit  recognition  of  the 
real  or  rational  foundation  of  proprietary  rights  as 
resting  on  the  Iaho}%  by  which  property  is  rendered 
useful  for  the  i)urposes  of  men. 

This  general  principle,  however,  like  many  another 
abstract  truth,  is  in  itself  of  comparatively  little  value 
for  solving  the  concrete  problems  of  actual  life.  In 
fact,  it  may  sometimes  form  rather  a  hindrance  to 
their  solution,  owing  to  the  uni)ractical  manner  in 
which  it  is  applied.  In  the  application  of  this  prin- 
ciple it  is  often  assumed  that  the  property  which  a 
man  happens  actually  to  possess  under  existing  laws, 
is  invested  with  the  same  sacredness  of  right  as  that 
which  is  obviously  the  product  of  his  own  labor. 
J)Ut  this  is  to  overlook  the  complicated  process  by 
which  nearly  all  men  come  into  possession  of  their 
wealth  amid  the  intricate  adjustments  of  our  civili- 
zation. We  are  no  longer  living  in  that  simple  con- 
dition of  society  in  which  every  man  produces  by 
his  own  direct  labor  all  that  he  owns.  In  some  very 
rude  forms  of  savage  life,  societies  may  be  foimd  in 
which  this  simple  industrial  arrangement  still  sur- 
vives. But  among  all  peoples  that  have  made  even 
a  beginning  of  civilization,  labor  is  so  divided  that 
different  industries  arc  carried  on  by  different  per- 
sons. As  a  result  of  this,  scarcely  any  man  is  occu- 
pied in  producing  the  necessaries  of  life  for  himself, 
and  nearly  all  would  therefore  starve  if  they  were 
not  in  a  position  ti)  exchange  such   of  their  own  pro- 


;!!*tri| 


t  i 
I  'I' 


312 


AX    I.N  TRODUCTIOX    TO    KTIIli'S. 


)i 


ductions  as  they  do  not  want  for  such  productions  of 
others  as  they  require.  In  other  words,  the  division 
of  labor  implies,  for  its  very  possibility,  practically 
unlimited  opportunities  of  exchange.  But  in  the 
process  of  exchange,  and  in  virtue  of  the  peculiar 
laws  by  which  the  process  is  controlled,  an  enormous 
quantity  of  wealth  often  accumulates  in  the  hands  of 
a  few  who  may  have  done  little  or  nothing  for  its 
production,  while  the  majority  of  the  workers,  to 
whose  toil  the  aggregate  wealth  is  largely  due,  receive 
but  a  miserable  pittance,  if  they  are  not  left  entirely 
destitute. 

But  justice  in  the  distribution  of  wealth  obviously 
implies  a  tacit  understanding,  that,  since  men  arc 
engaged  in  different  occupations  and  must  therefore 
e:xhange  the  products  of  their  labor  with  one  an- 
otlier,  every  man  shall  in  that  exchange  receive  his 
Jue,  that  is,  such  a  share  of  the  whole  wealth  pro- 
duced as  is  equivalent  to  the  share  which  he  has 
contributed  by  his  industry.  How  this  is  to  be 
accomplished,  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  discover.  It  is 
a  most  perplexing  problem  of  economical  science,  as 
well  as  of  law  and  morality,  to  devise  a  system  of 
distributing  the  aggregate  wealth  produced  in  any 
community  so  as  to  give  a  perfectly  just  share  to 
every  member.  The  process  of  producing  wealth, 
and  the  laws  by  which  the  process  is  governed,  are 
fairly  well  understood.  That  is  not  the  part  of 
economical  science,  which  troubles  the  thoughtful 
mind.  But  how  to  distribute  the  wealth  produced  so 
as  to  avoid  the  appalling  inequalities  of  the  present 
system, — the  answer  to  this  question  will  form  the 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


313 


-ictions  of 
J  division 
•ractically 
it  in  the 
I  peculiar 
enormous 
;  hands  of 
ng  for  its 
)rkers,  to 
le,  receive 
:t  entirely 

obviously 
men   are 
therefore 
i   one  an- 
ccive  his 
alth  pro- 
he  has 
to   be 
'er.     It  is 
ience,  as 
stem  of 
in  any 
share  to 
wealth, 
:rned,  are 
part    of 
loughtful 
iduced  so 
present 
form  the 


IS 


crowning   achievement  of  practical    philanthropy  as 
well  as  of  moral  and  political  science. 

{C)  At  present  the  problem  of  distribution  is 
solved  mainly  by  the  short  and  easy  method  of  con- 
tract. So  vast  is  the  operation  of  contract  in  the 
social  relations  of  men,  that  some  philosophers  have 
made  it  the  origin  of  all  property,  and  indeed  of  all 
social  order.  The  Theory  of  the  Social  Contract 
forms  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  doctrines  in  the 
political  speculations  of  last  century.  For  such  a 
doctrine  there  is  no  more  historical  ground  than  for 
the  hypothesis  noticed  above,  which  traces  the  origin 
of  property  to  occupancy.  In  fact,  a  contract  to 
form  political  society  supposes  such  a  society  already 
formed  ;  so  that  the  doctrine  in  question  is  on  a  par 
with  the  old  philological  theory  which  traced  the 
origin  of  language  to  a  convention  of  speechless 
men. 

As  already  explained,  in  primitive  societies  men 
act  deliberately  rather  in  social  groups  than  as  indi- 
viduals. This  fact  is  observable  in  contracting,  as  in 
other  forms  of  deliberate  action.  Contracts  between 
individuals  suppose  a  certain  development  of  the 
consciousness  of  individual  responsibility.  But  this 
consciousness  is  comparatively  weak  in  primitive 
man ;  and  therefore  the  responsibility  of  a  contract 
was  at  first  fenced  round  with  numerous  formalities, 
—  formalities  evidently  designed  to  guard  against 
hasty  formation  as  well  as  against  violation.  The 
necessity  of  such  precautions  is  proved  by  the  fact, 
that  primitive  peoples  are,  like  children,  apt  to  make 
hasty  contracts  of  which  they  soon  repent ;  and  there- 


314 


AN    INTRODUCTION  TO    KTHICS. 


■■  r     ' 


f'k 


i 


li:t 


i^: 


fore  primitive  legislation  sometimes  makes  careful 
provision  to  allow  the  annulling  of  bargains  within  a 
brief  period  after  they  have  been  made.^  The  his- 
tory of  contract  shows  the  gradual  development  of 
consciousness  from  the  merely  legal  to  the  moral 
point  of  view.  In  early  times  the  obligation  of  a 
contract  is  essentially  connected  with  the  minute 
ceremonies  by  which  its  formation  is  guarded ;  and 
the  omission  of  the  most  trivial  of  these  is  allowed 
to  invalidate  the  whole  contract.  But  with  the 
growth  of  moral  civilization  there  has  been  a  growing 
tendency  to  simplify  the  formalities  connected  with 
contracting,  and  to  enforce  rather  the  obvious  mean- 
ing and  spirit  of  the  obligations  assumed.^ 

Justice  endeavors  to  carry  out  this  spirit,  both  in 
reference  to  the  conditions  of  a  valid  contract,  and 
in  reference  to  its  interpretation. 

I.  The  conditions  of  validity  in  a  contract  are 
involved  in  its  very  nature.  A  contract  —  a  conven- 
tion or  compact  —  is  essentially  a  promise,  its  pecul- 
iarity being  that  it  is  mutual.  There  must,  therefore, 
always  be  two  parties  to  a  contract,  one  of  whom 
intentionally  raises  an  expectation  in  the  other  by  a 
promise  which  the  other  accepts.  15ut  as  the  promise 
is  mutual,  each  is  in  turn  promiser  (contractor)  and 
promisee  according  to  the  aspect  in  which  tlie  con- 
tract is  viewed.  The  validity  of  a  contract,  therefore, 
depends  on  conditions  which  affect  the  contracting 
parties  as  well  as  the  action  promised. 

'  Some  curious  examples  are  given   in   Mill's  Iltslory  of  Britis/i  hulia^ 

Vol.    I.   p.  200. 

2  The  studtmt  who  wishes  to  pursue  this  subject  furtlicr  will  fincl  the  early 
history  of  contract  discussed  at  lcni;t!i  in   Maim^'s  A>uient  IaU  .  chapter  ix. 


cs  careful 
iS  within  a 

The  his- 
Dpment  of 
the  moral 
ation  of  a 
le  minute 
rded ;  and 
is  allowed 

with  the 
a  growing 
ected  with 
ous  mean- 
it,  both  in 
It r act,  and 

iitract   arc 

\-  a  conven- 

its  pecul- 

therefore, 

of  wliom 
)ther  by  a 
le  promise 
•actor)  aiul 
1   tlie  coii- 

hercfore, 
ontractini^ 

Ih-itish  Iih/itu 

1  tuid  tlu'  early 
/T  .  chapter  i.\. 


SOCIAL  DUTIES. 


315 


1.  The  conditions  under  which  a  person  becomes 
liable  for  the  fulfilment  of  a  contract  are  essentially 
those  upon  which  responsibility  for  his  actions  in 
general  depends.  Thus,  no  man  can  be  held  respon- 
sible for  an  action,  unless  he  is  of  sufficient  intelli- 
gence to  understand  what  he  is  doing,  and  perfectly 
free  to  do  as  he  chooses.  Consequently,  nonage,  as 
well  as  idiocy  and  insanity,  incapacitates  a  person  for 
forming  a  valid  contract ;  and  a  promise  ceases  to  be 
binding  when  it  is  extorted  by  any  kind  of  force. 

2.  The  action  which  a  contractor  promises  may 
also  be  of  such  a  nature  as  to  invalidate  the  contract. 
It  may  involve,  for  example,  an  impossibility,  or  an  in- 
justice to  some  third  party,  or  a  fraud  by  which  one 
of  the  contracting  parties  endeavors  to  take  an  unjust 
advantage  of  the  other.  In  such  cases  it  generally 
becomes  necessary  to  take  up  the  question  in  refer- 
ence to 

II.  The  interpretation  of  a  contract.  Obviously  in 
justice  a  contract  must  be  interpreted  in  accordance 
with  what  is  expected  by  the  promisee,  and  known  to 
be  expected  by  the  promiser.  Now,  the  expectation 
excited  can  be  known  only  by  the  language  which  the 
contractor  has  employed  ;  and  that  language  can  sel- 
dom be  known  with  certainty,  except  when  it  is  in 
writing.  It  is,  therefore,  essential  to  the  welfare  of 
society,  that  all  contracts  of  importance  should  be 
written,  that  the  language  employed  should  not  be 
open  to  the  vague  interpretations  of  ordinary  speech, 
but  defined  by  terms  of  technical  signification,  and 
conse([uently  that  such  contracts  should  be  drawn  up 


by 


men   wlio    are 


prof 


essioiKilly    (|u.uiti 


eu 


to 


C5 


uarc 


i't 


3i6 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


'-;!- 


i  i« 


lii  ;■ 

I'!     ' 

III? 

Hi' 


i; 


I 
I'll 


^^l/ 


m 


'ma  \i 


against  misinterpretations  by  the  proper  use  of  tech- 
nical expressions. 

But,  notwithstanding  all  the  devices  of  Jurispru- 
dence to  secure  by  contract  an  equitable  distribution 
of  the  wealth  produced  in  any  community,  the  distri- 
bution has  always  presented  an  inequality  which,  from 
the  earliest  ages  of  literature,  has  been  the  subject  of 
passionate  invective  and  of  earnest  speculation  to  re- 
ligious reformers  and  philosophical  thinkers.  Many 
plans  have  accordingly  been  suggested  for  reorganiz- 
ing society,  so  that  the  general  wealth  might  be  more 
equally  and  more  fairly  distributed.  At  bottom,  all 
systems  for  the  distribution  of  wealth  follow  two  types, 
though  each  admits  of  many  variations  in  detail.  The 
two  typical  systems  are  those  of  Private  Property  and 
of  Common  Property. 

The  former  is  the  system  which  ha?  prevailed  in  all 
the  great  nations  of  the  civilized  world.  Under  it, 
private  individuals  are  each  allowed,  under  certain 
regulations,  to  obtain  possession  of  a  portion  of  the 
whole  wealth  produced  in  the  community,  and  to  dis- 
pose of  it,  also  under  certain  regulations,  but  practi- 
cally with  a  somewhat  unlimited  control.  On  the 
other  hand,  under  the  system  of  common  property,  or 
Communism  as  it  is  usually  st  >  led  in  our  day,  the 
wealth  produced  in  any  community,  instead  of  being 
allowed  to  fall  into  the  uncontrolled  possession  of  in- 
dividuals, is  retained  as  the  common  property  of  the 
whole,  and  then  distributed  among  the  individual  mem- 
bers. These  rival  theories  form  merely  a  particular 
phase  of  the  general  conflict  between  Socialism  and 
Individualism,   which   was  referred   to  above.     This 


36  of  tech- 

[  Jurispru- 
istribution 

the  distri- 
/'hich,  from 

subject  of 
ition  to  re- 
rs.     Many 

reorganiz- 
it  be  more 
bottom,  all 

two  types, 
itail.  The 
operty  and 

ailed  in  all 
Under  it, 
er  certain 
ion  of  the 
ind  to  dis- 
Dut  practi- 
On  the 
operty,  or 
■  day,  the 
of  bein<j 
ion  of  in- 
rty  of  the 
dual  mem- 
particular 
:Uism  and 
\'e.     This 


SOCIAL  DUTIES. 


3^7 


conflict,  however,  cannot  be  decided  by  purely  ethical 
argument  ;  it  takes  us  into  the  domain  of  political 
science. 

Subsection  III.  —  Forfeiture  of  Rights. 

Forfeiture  ^  is  the  obligation  under  which  a  wrong- 
doer comes  to  surrender  his  rights  so  far  as  may  be 
necessarily  or  fairly  required  to  repair  the  wrong  he 
has  done.  Forfeiture  thus  introduces  the  subject  of 
punitive  or  corrective  justice,  that  is,  those  obliga- 
tions of  social  morality  which  demand  a  reparation  of 
the  evil  effects  produced  by  injustice. 

At  the  foundation  of  forfeiture,  therefore,  lies  the 
idea  of  wrong-doing.  Now,  a  wrong  action  may  be 
viewed  in  various  aspects.  In  the  fi  si  ^jlace,  it  is 
often  represented  as  an  injury  or  insult  to  the  Su- 
preme Authority  of  Right,  and  then  it  is  properly 
called  a  siu.  Or,  again,  it  may  be  detrimental  to 
some  particular  person  or  persons  who  are  immedi- 
ately affected  by  it,  and  in  this  case  it  is  described  as 
a  civil  injury,  a  zvrong,  or  tort.  But  still  another  view 
may  be  taken.  The  action  may  be  treated  as  an  in- 
jury to  society  considered  as  an  organic  whole, — to 
society,  either  in  itself  or  in  its  ruler.  It  is  only  under 
this  aspect  that  the  action  becomes  a  criminal  \\\]wry, 
—  a  crime. 

The  early  history  of  criminal  legislation,  as  might 
be  expected,  shows  that  these  three  aspects  of  wrong- 
doing were  perpetually  confounded,  and  it  is  only 
after   considerable  social  evolution   that  the  idea  of 

1  Forfeit  is  from  a  Low- Latin  verhforisfaccrc,  the  idci  of  which  is  fairly 
represented  by  such  expressions  as  to  Jo  {make)  away  with,  to  throw  over- 
board, to  exterminate. 


i 


k  < 


1^ 


ii 


m 


m 


,1, 

ll 

318 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO   KTIIICS. 


crime  becomes  distinctly  separated  from  the  others. ^ 
The  predominant  tendency  in  })rimitiv^e  societies 
seems  to  be  to  treat  crimes  as  civil  injuries  ;  that  is, 
as  wrongs  from  which  particular  individuals  suffer, 
and  which  are  to  be  redressed  by  them,  either  inflict- 
ing some  retaliation,  or  exacting  some  compensation, 
such  as  a  fine.  Even  when  the  State  interferes  to 
regulate  such  redress,  it  appears  rather  as  a  judge  in 
a  civil  suit  arbitrating  between  two  parties,  than  as 
representative  of  a  society  demanding  atonement  for 
an  injury  done  to  itself.  But,  even  then,  a  deeper 
conception  of  guilt  had  taken  hold  of  the  mind.  At 
a  very  early  period,  religion  brought  in  the  idea  of 
supernatural  agency  in  tracking  and  punishing  crime, 
even  when  the  penalties  of  human  invention  failed  to 
strike  the  object  at  whom  they  were  aimed. ^ 

It  is  evident,  then,  that  the  history  of  penal  legisla- 
tion introduces  us  to  very  different  views  of  pun- 
ishment, corresponding  to  different  views  taken  of 
the  actions  punished.  The  truth  is,  as  must  be 
obvious  on  reflection,  that  the  conception  of  a  wrong 
action  involves  precisely  the  questions  that  are  forced 
upon  us  in  the  definition  of  a  right  action.  Conse- 
quently the  theories  of  punishment,  though  exhibit- 
ing great  differences  in  detail,  run  mainly  in  those 
two  antagonistic  directions  which  have  been  charac- 
terized as  Stoical  and  Utilitarian.     Not,  indeed,  that 


it  1^1 


1  For  details  on  this  subject  the  student  must  be  again  referred  to  Sir 
Henry  Maine's  Ancient  Laxv  (Sec  chapter  x.).  The  history  of  criminal 
legislation  in  England  is  treated  with  great  detail  by  Sir  James  Stephen  in  his 
History  of  the  Criminal  Law  0/  Enj^/aiu/  {iSS}).  Compare  A  History  0/ 
Crime  in  F.ni;land  (1S73),  by  L.  O.  Pike  of  Lincoln's  Inn. 

2  Sec  above,  p.  96. 


ic  others.^ 
:  societies 
s  ;  that  is, 
lals  suffer, 
her  inflict- 
ipensation, 
:erferes  to 
a  judge  i!i 
;s,  than  as 
icment  for 
,  a  deeper 
mind.  At 
he  idea  of 
ling  crime, 
»n  failed  to 

2 

nal  legisla- 
s  of  pun- 
taken  of 
must  be 
3f  a  wrong 
are  forced 
Conse- 
h  exhibit- 
y  in  those 
n  charac- 
deed,  that 

referred  to  Sir 

y  of  criminal 

Stephen  in  iiis 

A  History  of 


SOCIAL    DUTIKS. 


319 


.her  Stoics  or  Utilitarians  are  always  logically  con- 
sistent in  applying  their  general  ethical  theory  to 
determine  their  theory  of  punishment.  On  this  sub- 
ject many  Stoics  represent  a  very  un-idcal  Utilitari- 
anism, while  some  Utilita**ians  have  been  Stoically 
severe.  Ikit  the  contending  theories  of  punishment 
proceed  on  Stoical  and  Utilitarian  conceptions  of 
right  and  wrong.  The  Empirical  Utilitarian,  as  we 
have  seen,  finds  the  wrongness  of  an  action,  not  in 
its  intrinsic  nature,  but  in  its  extrinsic  consequences. 
Punishment,  therefore,  in  his  view,  can  never  be  a 
reflection  upon  the  action  in  itself.  It  is  not  retro- 
spective, but  prospective  ;  it  has  no  meaning  except 
from  its  utility  as  a  means  to  serve  some  end,  such  as 
the  prevention  of  undesirable  actions  in  the  future. 
On  the  other  hand,  in  any  consistent  theory  of  Stoi- 
cism, punishment  points  of  necessity  to  the  past  ;  it 
is  the  deliberate  condemnation  by  the  moral  reason 
and  sentiment  of  society,  of  an  action  which  is 
declared  to  be  injurious  to  the  social  well-being  of 
men.^ 

Of  course,  if  it  be  granted  that  punishment  is  the 
reasonable  expression  of  the  moral  judgment  of  the 
community  in  condemnation  of  crime,  the  Stoic  is 
open  to  discuss  the  incidental  ends  which  punish- 
ment may  attain  ;  and,  therefore,  when  the  practical 

1  It  is  interesting  to  find  one  of  the  greatest  criminal  lawyers  of  modern 
times,  who  certainly  shows  no  speculative  prejudices  against  Utilitarianisni, 
dissenting  in  most  explicit  language  from  the  extreme  Utilitarian  doctrine  of 
punishment,  and  contending  that,  for  law  and  morality  alike,  punishment 
would  lose  a  great  deal  of  its  value  if  it  were  not  for  the  fact  that  it  gives  a 
rational  expression  and  satisfaction  to  the  healthy  indignation  of  the  commu- 
nity against  criminals.  See  Sir  J.  Stephen's  History  of  the  Cri)iiiiuii  Lmf  in 
England,  Vol.  11.  pp.  j  ;-S2. 


A 


,t  I 


fi 


11 


'W 


i 

T 

i  ^i  •:. 

i 

320 


A\    INTk(Jl)L'C  TIO.N    TO    KTIIICb. 


question  comes  up  in  reference  to  the  ends  which  it 
is  most  desirable  to  secure  by  punishment,  Stoic  and 
UtiHtarian  may  meet  on  common  ground.  Vov  the 
Stoic,  basing  the  moral  life  of  man  on  reason,  cannot 
entertain  any  proposal  which  would  inflict  unreason- 
able severities  as  just  punishments  of  any  crime. 
All  punishment,  for  him  as  well  as  for  the  Utilita- 
rian, must  have  some  reasonable  end  in  view.  Only 
he  contends  that  there  can  be  no  reasonable  justifica- 
tion of  punishment,  except  on  the  assumption  that 
the  criminal  really  forfeits  his  rights  ;  in  other  words, 
that,  by  doing  wrong  to  others,  he  comes  under  a 
moral  obligation  to  surrender  his  own  rights,  so  far 
as  may  be  necessary  to  make  a  reasonable  repara- 
tion of  the  wronGf  done. 

The  fact  of  forfeiture  determines  the  nature  of  all 
punishment  ;  for  the  only  rights  which  a  man  can 
forfeit  are  those  which  can  be  taken  from  him  by 
force.  These  are,  most  obviously,  his  real  rights 
which  he  may  be  obliged  to  surrender,  either  par- 
tially in  the  form  of  a  fine,  or  completely  by  confis- 
cation. But  he  may  also  be  required  to  give  up  those 
personal  rights  which  relate  to  the  external  side  of 
personality,  and  can  therefore  be  reached  by  external 
agency.  Here  also  the  forfeiture  may  be  either 
partial  or  complete.  It  is  partial  when  liberty  alone 
is  taken  away,  either  temporarily  or  permanently,  by 
imprisonment  or  servitude.  The  forfeiture  of  per- 
sonal rights  becomes  complete  in  capital  punishment. 

Of  the  two  general  forms  of  punishment,  that  which 
attacks  the  personal  rights  is  always  considered  the 
more  severe.     To  a  moral  being  it  is  a  more  serious 


SOCIAL    DUTIES. 


321 


Is  which  it 

Stoic  and 

1^'or  the 

on,  cannot 

unrcason- 

my  crime. 

he  Utilita- 

ew.     Only 

le  justifica- 

iption  that 

ther  words, 

:s  under  a 

j;hts,  so  far 

ble  rcpara- 

ature  of  all 
I  man  can 
im  him  by 
eal    rights 
ither  par- 
by  confis- 
e  up  those 
lal  side  of 
)A^  external 
be    either 
)erty  alone 
nently,  by 
re  of  per- 
nishment. 
that  which 
idcred  the 
)re  serious 


loss  to  be  deprived  of  the  inherent  rii^hts  of  his  per- 
sonality than  to  surrender  a  part  of  his  property. 
Imprisonment  is  therefore  a  greater  degradation  of 
humanity  than  a  fine. 

In  deciding  between  these  different  forms  of  pun- 
ishment with  all  their  numerous  modifications,  regard 
must  be  had  both  to  the  future  ends  which  punish- 
ment may  reasonably  be  directed  to  attain,  and  to 
the  nature  of  the  j^ast  action  which  is  to  be  punished. 

(A)  In  regard  to  the  first  })oint,  as  we  have  seen, 
Stoic  and  Utilitarian  may  meet  on  common  ground. 
The  future  ends  which  punishment  is  designed  to 
attain  must  be  effects  either  on  the  criminal  pun- 
ished, or  on  society,  or,  of  course,  on  both.  Under 
the  first  head,  in  whatever  language  they  may  be 
described,  all  punishments  are  intended  to  be  deter- 
rent ;  that  is,  they  are  intended  to  create  in  the 
criminal's  mind  a  motive  sufficiently  powerful  to 
deter  him  from  yielding  to  his  criminal  inclinations 
in  future,  or  to  produce  such  an  improvement  in  his 
general  character  as  may  free  him  from  the  influence 
of  these  inclinations.  On  the  other  hand,  the  effect 
of  punishment  on  society  may  be  direct  or  indirect : 
the  former,  by  deterring  persons  with  criminal  incli- 
nations from  seeking  to  gratify  these  ;  the  latter,  by 
preventing  the  criminal  from  injuring  society,  either 
by  depriving  him  temporarily  or  permanently  of  his 
liberty,  or  by  putting  him  out  of  the  world. 

(/>)  But  not  only  must  all  just  punishment  have 
a  reasonable  regard  to  the  future  ;  it  must  also  pay  a 
reasonable  regard  to  the  past.  This  is  obvious,  of 
course,  on  the   Stoical  theory,  which  makes  punish- 


!i  i 


i 


^22 


AN    IX'I'KODUC'TION   TO   F.TIIICS. 


P 


I 


r-^'  ( 


11 


'li 


mcnt  primarily  the  rational  condemnation  of  an  ac- 
tion after  it  is  done  ;  but  the  Utilitarian  also  recog- 
nizes in  some  form  the  necessity  of  measuring  pun- 
ishment by  the  nature  of  the  action  punished,  even 
if  it  be  merely  for  the  purpose  of  creating  a  motiv^e 
sufiRcient  to  deter  from  such  actions  in  future. 

This  adaptation  of  punishment  to  the  action  pun- 
ished is  peculiarly  obvious  when  punishment  is  based 
upon  forfeiture.  It  then  becomes  a  fundamental 
principle  of  punitive  justice,  not  only  that  no  one  can 
forfeit  a  right  except  by  doing  a  wrong,  but  that  the 
forfeiture  of  his  rights  by  a  wrong-doer  must  be  lim- 
ited by  a  reasonable  proportion  to  the  wrong  done. 
Any  forfeiture  which  exceeds  this  reasonal:)le  limit, 
becomes  a  wrong  done  to  the  offender,  which  he  in 
his  turn  may  justly  resent.  Such  forfeitures,  there- 
fore, tend  to  defeat  all  the  great  ends  at  which  rea- 
sonable punishment  aims.  Their  effects,  both  on  the 
criminal  and  on  society,  are  apt  to  be  prejudicial. 
The  feeling  excited  in  both  partakes  of  the  nature  of 
resentment  at  a  wrong  done,  while  punishment,  to  be 
effective,  ought  to  carry  with  it  the  highest  moral 
sentiment  of  the  community. 

But  this  obvious  princii)le  of  punitive  justice  has 
been  far  from  receiving  general  recognition  in  the 
enactment  and  administration  of  penal  laws.  Down 
to  comparatively  recent  times  the  criminal  legislation, 
even  of  the  most  civilized  nations,  was  characterized 
by  an  unreasonable  severity.  This  severity  was  due 
sometimes  to  abstract  speculative  theories,  sometimes 
to  concrete  social  facts. 

I.   Some  of    the    speculative   theories    chargeable 


s. 

n  of  an  ac- 
also  rccog- 
5uring  pun- 
ished, even 
ig  a  motive 
tiire. 

action  pun- 
nit  is  based 
undamental 

no  one  can 
lilt  that  the 
iiiist  be  lim- 
vrong  done, 
nalole  limit, 
vhich  he  in 
ures,  thcre- 

which  rea- 
both  on  the 

prejudicial. 

e  nature  of 
ment,  to  be 
chest  moral 

justice  has 
tion  in  the 
ws.  Down 
legislation, 
laracterized 
ty  was  due 
,  sometimes 

chargeable 


SOCIAI-   DUTIES. 


323 


with  undue  severity  are  Stoical,  others  arc  Utilitarian, 
in  their  drift. 

I.  Among  the  theories  which  represent  the  Stoical 
cast  of  thought,  perhaps  the  Theory  of  Retaliation  — 
Lex  Taliouis  —  ought  to  be  ranked.  This  conception 
of  corrective  justice  is  apt  to  dominate  the  criminal 
code  while  crimes  are  viewed  mainly  as  wrongs  done 
to  individuals.  Occasionally  the  talio  yields  a  rough 
and  ready  sort  of  justice,  but  frequently  also  it  in- 
volves a  barbarous  and  aimless  cruelty.^ 

Another  theory,  which  has  exerted  a  baneful  influ- 
ence on  the  conception  and  treatment  of  crime,  is 
that  which  identifies  all  wrong  actions  as  equally  vio- 
lations of  the  moral  law.  This  was  a  speculative  doc- 
trine of  the  ancient  Stoics. ^  It  appears  in  the  teaching 
of  some  religious  systems  of  Ethics,  which  represent 
all  wrong  actions  as  equally  sins  against  God  ;  and 
it  was  a  similar  conception,  that  in  the  ancient  codes 
of  Peru  and  Japan  treated  with  capital  punishment  all 
trangressions  of  law  as  being  all  equally  crimes,  in  the 
former  case  against  the  ruling  Incas,  the  Children  of 
the  Sun,  and  in  the  latter  case  against  the  Mikado. -"^ 
To  all  such  theories  it  is  an  obvious  objection,  that 
they  view  human  actions  in  a  purely  abstract  aspect, 
without  reference  to  the  concrete  facts  which  make 
them  realities.  Moreover,  when  theories  of  this  drift 
take  on  a  religious  phase,  they  view  human  actions 
in  a  light  with  which  human  law  has  nothing  to  do. 


1  Numerous  illustrations,  especially  from  the  Laws  of  Menu,  are  given  in 
Mill's  History  of  British  liuiia,  Vol.  I.    pp.  216-232. 

2  See  Zcllor's  Stoics,  Epicureans,  a)id  Scc/'tics.  pp.  249,  250. 

3  Prescotfs  History  of  the  Co)ii]ucst  of  Peru,  r.oDk  I.   chapter  ii.     Mon- 
tesquieu's L' Esp)  it  lies  Lois,  ISiMik  l\'.  ch.iplL'r  xiii. 


!!' 


n 

■i     - 

Hi 

M 
"I  I 


M  ^ 


■  1 


tii^: 


Ml 


324 


AN    INIKODUCTIOX  'I'( )    I/rilHS. 


In  SO  far  as  crimes  arc  sins,  they  must  be  left  to  the 
retributive  ajjjency  of  the  divine  laws  which  govern 
unerringly  the  ailministration  of  the  universe:  **^/tv- 
yv/;;/  injiiriic,  dconim  enrich 

2.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Utilitarian  conception 
of  punishment  has  not  been  without  its  share  of  re- 
sponsibility for  the  extreme  severity  with  which  crime 
has  often  been  treatetl.  Regarding  the  penal  code 
simply  as  an  expedient  for  producing  a  deterrent  effect, 
either  upon  the  criminal  or  upon  other  persons  with 
criminal  inclinations,  Utilitarianism  can  justify  the 
iniliction  of  punishment  only  when  it  is  certain  to 
produce  its  effect,  that  is,  only  when  it  is  sufficiently 
severe  to  strike  terror  into  minds  that  are  intended 
to  be  mipressed.  Under  this  influence  there  is 
always  a  tendency  to  make  sure  of  the  effect  intended 
by  making  the  punishment  as  terrible  as  the  circum- 
stances will  allow.  That  is  merely  another  way  of 
saying  that  a  large  proportion  of  crimes  will  be  ranked 
as  capital,  or  will  be  requited  by  penalties  which  may 
be  not  less,  and  in  some  cases  even  more,  dreadful 
than  death  itself.  This  line  of  reasoning  is  strikingly 
represented  in  Paley's  chapter  on  Crimes  and  I'un- 
ishmcnts.^  Starting  from  the  nicest  unqualified  Utili- 
tarianism, he  defends  the  Iinglish  jjcnal  code  of  his 
time,  which  attached  the  penalty  of  death  to  some 
two  hundred  offences,  including  cases  of  petty  theft 
that  are  now  treated  with  but  a  brief  imprisonment. 
It  is  true,  Paley  admits  that  the  penalty  prescribed 
was  inflicted  in  scarcely  one  out  of  ten  cases,  but  he 
contends  that  it  was  necessary  to  hold  out  the  extreme 

1  Moral  and  Polilual  r/iiloso/hy,  Book  VI.  cliaptcr  ix. 


■A 

lii' 


SOCIAL    Dl'TIKS. 


3^5 


jft  to  the 
h  govern 
so :  ** liio- 

iinccption 
arc  of  rc- 
lich  crime 
cnal  code 
ent  effect, 
sons  with 
List  if  y  the 
certain  to 
ufficiently 
intended 
;   there  is 
;  intended 
e  circum- 
er  way  of 
)e  ranked 
diich  may 
,  dreadful 
strikinL^ly 
and  I'un- 
lod  Utili- 
de  of  his 
to  some 
tty  theft 
sonment. 
rescribed 
,  but  he 
extreme 


penalty  of  the  law  as   a  jxjssihle  retribution  in  order 
to  be  sure  of  |)i()ducinL;  the  deterrent  effect  intended. 

II.  Tliis  Utilitarian  motive  has  probably  had  a  good 
deal  of  influence,  during  the  past  history  of  society, 
in  imparting  an    undue   severity   to   j)enal   laws   and 
their  administration.      In  early  stages  of  civilization 
there  is  seldom  a  strong  feeling  of  security  in  regard 
to  the  established  social  order,  and  extreme  measures 
are  therefore  usually  adopted  to  guard  against  offences 
by  which   its  stability  is  threatened.      Moreover,  the 
defective  state   of  science,   and  consequently  of  the 
arts  by  which  human  life  is  enriched,  renders  it  much 
more  difficult  to  cope  with  crime,  and  thus  leaves  its 
detection  and  punishment  correspondingly  uncertain. 
The  perplexity  of  government,  in  its   efforts  to  con- 
quer a   foe   with    so   many  facilities    for   eluding   its 
grasp,  has  naturally  led  to  the  emi)loyment  of  any 
means,  however  cruel,  that   seemed   likely  to  make 
victory  secure.     This  motive  is  forcibly  ex])ressed  by 
Paley.     Vindicating,  by  the  line  of  argument  noticed 
above,  the  excessive  penalties  of  the  ICnglish  criminal 
code,  he  contends  that,  while  the  Omniscient  Ruler  of 
the  world  may  reward  every  creature  according  to  his 
works,  it  would  be  unwise  for  men,  with   their  defec- 
tive knowledge  and  power,  to  limit  punishments  to  an 
exact  proportion  with  the  guilt  of  the  crimes  pun- 
ished.    "  In  their  hands  the  uncertainty  of  punish- 
ment  must   be   compensated   by  the  severity.     The 
ease  with  which   crimes  are  committed  or  concealed 
must  be  counteracted  by  additional  penalties  and  in- 
creased terrors." 

If  such  reasoning  satisfied  the  reflecting  moralist 


li 


':i  'i 


If 


iiJi'i 


I 


I  f 


326 


AX    INTRODUCTION    TO   KTIHCS. 


of  the  modern  world,  \vc  need  not  wonder  that  the 
primitive  law-giver  should  have  been  unable  to  in- 
vent any  method  of  preventing  crime,  but  the  threat 
of  appalling  })ains.  The  penal  code  of  early  civiliza- 
tion has  been  painfully  uniform  in  its  cruel  features 
all  over  the  world.  Indeed,  these  features  have  clunu- 
to  all  criminal  legislation  with  wonderful  tenacitv 
down  to  comparatively  recent  times.  It  i.s  only 
within  the  present  century  that  most  of  the  civilized 
nations  have  abrogated  the  antique  barbarities  of 
criminal  law.  This  improvement  has  been  greatly 
aided  by  the  means  which  applied  science  has  put  in 
the  hands  of  government  for  the  detection  of  crime, 
and  which  are  rendering  it  every  year  more  difficult 
for  criminals  to  escape  from  justice. 

The  mitigation  of  the  criminal  code  is  but  one 
phase  of  the  change  which  is  coming  over  society 
under  the  peaceful  influences  of  our  industrial  civili- 
zation. The  growing  sentiment  of  the  sacredness  of 
life,  the  growing  horror  of  uni.cceisary  pain,  have 
made  the  cruel  punishments  of  a  former  age  unen- 
durable. The  truth  is,  that  now  Here  appears  at 
times  a  danger  of  this  sentiment  degenerating  into  a 
sentimental  pity  for  the  criminal,  that  obstructs  the 
healthy  energy  of  the  righteous  indignation  which  he 
should  always  be  led  to  expect.^ 

§  2.  Indeterminate  Dnties,  or  Duties  of  Benevolence. 

These  duties,  from  their  very  nature,  do  not  admit 
of  being  defined  in  distinct  forms,  like  the  determi- 

*  In  this  connection  Carlylc's  Essay  on  Model  Prisons,  in  his  Latter-Day 
Famf'hlcts,  is  as  worlliy  of  study  as  at  tlie  time  it  was  written. 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


327 


•  that  the 
blc  to  in- 
thc  threat 
ly  civiliza- 
,'1  features 
lave  cliinn- 
l  tenacity 
t  h  only 
c  civilized 
)arities  of 
m  greatly 
has  put  in 
of  crime, 
re  difficult 

but  one 
er  society 
trial  civil  i- 
redncss  of 
)ain,  have 
aire  unen- 
ippcars  at 
ing  into  a 
:ructs  the 
which  he 


'Hcvolcucc. 

not  admit 
:  determi- 

is  Latter-Day 


natc  duties  of  justice.  The  interests  of  the  moral 
life  may  indeed  render  it  useful  for  the  practical 
moralist  or  the  religious  teacher  to  explain  and  illus- 
trate the  particular  forms  of  conduct  which  the  Law 
of  IJenevolence  enjoins ;  but  no  great  speculative 
interest  is  served  by  following  these  into  detail.  In 
the  exposition  of  these  duties  the  practical  teacher 
might  follow  various  principles  of  classification  to 
suit  his  particular  convenience  ;  but  there  is  one 
principle  of  classification  which,  as  natural,  might  be 
adopted  as  scientific.  This  would  follow  the  order 
in  which  the  benevolent  affections  arc  naturally 
evolved.  Such  a  classification  would  show  the  moral 
ideal,  like  the  emotional  impulses,  of  benevolence 
gradually  expanding  from  the  narrow  instincts  of 
purely  natural  affection,  embracing  chosen  friends 
and  various  social  groups,  till  it  reaches  that  uni- 
versality of  regard  which  is  demanded  by  the  moral 
reason. 

This  universality  is,  in  fact,  involved  in  all  the 
special  duties  of  benevolence.  We  are  under  moral 
obligation  to  do,  to  kinsmen,  to  friends,  to  country- 
men, any  good  we  can  that  is  consistent  with  the  uni- 
versal good.  That  alone  is  their  real  good  ;  for 
unless  the  definition  of  goodness  is  degraded  to  the 
narrowest  conception  of  pleasantness,  the  good  of 
each  rational  being  must  be  the  good  of  all.  It  is 
only  when  thus  universal  in  its  regard,  that  bene- 
volcucc  becomes  honQjiccjicc  ;  that  is,  the  unreflecting 
impulses  of  benevolence  become  practical  laws  of 
reflective  reason.  This  implies  that  it  is  necessary 
to  distinguish  between   benevolence  considered  as  a 


■i  I 


i 


ll 


32cS 


AX    IXTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


'I 


m 


l^ifi 


?,,...        .    , 

\l    ] 

till: ' 

moral  obligation,  and  those  feelings  of  benevolence 
which  are  spontaneously  excited  by  the  natural 
stimulants  of  human  sensibility.  The  distinction  is 
important,  not  only  because  it  is  frequently  over- 
looked, but  because  it  is  sometimes  exaggerated  into 
a  complete  separation,  if  not  a  sort  of  antagonism. 
The  real  relation  of  the  two  must  therefore  be  more 
fully  explained. 

I.  It  is  true,  there  cannot  be  an  obligation  to  ftr/ 
benevolence,  so  far  as  that  feeling  is  a  purely  natural 
excitement.  Any  natural  feeling,  of  whatever  kind 
it  may  be,  —  love  or  hate,  joy  or  grief,  hope  or  fear, 
anger  or  pity,  —  is  excited  by  its  natural  cause  ;  and 
when  the  proper  cause  is  not  operating  upon  the 
mind,  no  amount  of  dictation  will  succeed  in  rousing 
any  of  these  emotional  excitements.  To  require  a 
man  to  feel  love  or  hatred  for  another  who  is  not  in- 
trinsically lovable  or  hateful,  would  be  as  irrational 
as  a  demand  that  he  should  feel  the  taste  of  sugar 
when  there  is  none  of  that  substance  at  hand,  or  that 
he  should  hear  a  sound  when  there  is  no  sonorous 
vibration  strikins^  the  ear. 

II.  But  this  fact  must  be  interpreted  in  view  of 
the  qualification  by  which  it  is  restricted.  Though 
in  one  aspect  benevolence  is  a  purely  natural  ex- 
citement, it  is  not  so  in  all  its  aspects.  Like  all  our 
emotions,  it  is  to  a  large  extent  within  the  control 
of  the  will ;  and  this  control  is  manifested  in  various 
ways. 

I.  Even  though  the  feeling  may  be  excited  at 
first  involuntarily  by  natural  causes,  the  moment  it 
appears    in    consciousness,   it   has    entered   into   the 


(y 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


329 


1  i\ 


evolence 
natural 
iiction  is 
:ly  ovcr- 
ted  into 
igonisni. 
be  more 

I  to  fcr/ 
■  natural 
/er  kind 

or  fear, 
[se  ;  and 
ipon  the 

rousing 
equire  a 
3  not  in- 
■rational 
sugar 

or  that 
onorous 

view  of 
'hough 
ral  ex- 
all  our 
control 
various 

ted  at 
lent  it 
to   the 


sphere  of  volition.     It  remains  with  us  to  cherish  or 


it  at  will 


id  a  k 


-t  of 


■al   life 


reprej 

occupied  in  thus  increasing  or  diminishing  or  com- 
pletely annihilating  the  force  of  the  impulses  which 
come  from  our  natural  sensibility. 

2.  But  even  the  excitation  of  a  benevolent  feeling 
is  not  altogether  beyond  the  will's  control.  Love  is 
blind,  says  the  proverb,  but  the  same  blindness  's 
proverbially  ascribed  to  all  our  passions :  and  the 
irrational  infatuations  by  which  men  are  often  car- 
ried away  into  moral  absurdities,  are  commonly  due 
to  the  absence  of  any  honest  effort  of  intelligence  to 
see  the  facts  by  which  a  more  rational  sentiment 
might  have  been  produced.  It  is  therefore  frequently 
a  man's  own  fault,  if  he  is  callously  indifferent  to 
those  whose  character  is  naturally  fitted  to  waken 
grateful  or  other  kindly  sentiments,  or  if  he  allows 
hateful  passions  to  arise  in  his  mind  towards  others 
for  causes  which  have  no  existence  except  in  the 
hallucinations  of  his  own  fancy, 

3.  But  there  is  another  aspect  in  which  benevolent 
and  other  emotions  are  under  the  control  of  the  will, 
—  an  aspect  which  affects  most  profoundly  the  whole 
character  of  the  moral  life.  Emotional  activity  is 
subject  to  the  general  invv  of  habit.  It  is  therefore 
possible,  by  repeated  iu'lulgence  of  any  emotion,  to 
create  an  habitual  disposition  which  renders  the  out- 
burst of  the  emotion  easy,  spontaneous,  or  even 
irresistible  ;  while  another  emotion  may  be  starved 
out  of  existence  by  persistent  repression  of  the  in- 
dulgences which  are  its  natural  food.  lUit  the  obli- 
gations  connected    with    this    culture    of    emotional 


'!• 


1  f 


330 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO   KTIIICS. 


'  (i 


dispositions  belong  rather  to  the  class  of  personal 
duties,  which  will  be  described  in  ne.\t  chai)ter. 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  while  the  moral  obliga- 
tion of  benevolence  is  not  to  be  confounded  with  a 
mere  feeling,  yet  the  benevolent  feelings,  so  far  as 
they  are  under  the  control  of  the  will,  form  a  factor 
of  the  obligation.  It  is  not  merely,  as  Kant  has  put 
it,^  because,  if  it  were  not  warmed  by  emotion,  social 
morality  would  lose  a  great  deal  of  its  charm.  There 
is  a  more  imperative  reason  than  this  for  cultivating 
the  benevolent  affections.  Without  them  social  mo- 
rality would  not  only  be  a  comparatively  dull  routine 
of  uninteresting  tasks  ;  it  would  become  practically 
impossible,  for  human  life  would  lose  the  one  power- 
ful stimulus  to  the  practice  of  social  obligations. 

Yet  with  all  these  explarjations  it  remains  indis- 
pensable to  inculcate  the  fact,  that  the  feeling  of 
benevolence  can  in  no  form  be  made  a  substitute  for 
the  moral  principle  by  which  men  extend  a  rational 
benevolence  towards  one  another.  This  is  true, 
whether  the  feeling  of  benevolence  be  a  purely 
natural  excitement  or  a  product  of  rational  guidance. 

(i)  This  is  particularly  evident  in  reference  to  the 
natural  form  of  the  emotion.  An  act  which  is  done 
simply  under  the  impulse  of  natural  feeling  without 
any  rational  end  in  view  is  not  a  moral  action.  Not 
only  is  it  non-moral,  it  is  sometimes  positively  im- 
moral. For  the  agent,  or  rather  the  patient,  allowing 
himself  to  be  impelled  by  the  natural  force  of  a  blind 
passion,  may  produce  results  which  he  did  not  fore- 
see, simply  because  he  did  not   exercise  his  reason, 

I  Ah\',i/-/iysil:  J.r  Sittoi,  in  U'olr,  Vol.  VII.  p.  266  (Ilartcnstein's  ed.). 


sociA!.  i>i;rii:s. 


331 


personal 
iter. 

al  oblii;a- 
od  with  a 
so  far  as 
1  a  factor 
t  has  put 
ion,  social 
n.  There 
ultivating 
;ocial  mo- 
ll routine 
)ractically 
le  power- 
lions. 

tins  indis- 
eeling  of 
ititiite  for 
a  rational 

is    true, 

a  purely 
guidance, 
cc  to  the 
1  is  done 
g  without 
ion.     Not 

ively  im- 
,  allowing 
of  a  blind 

not  fore- 
is  reason, 

stein's  od.). 


but  which  he  would  have  foreseen  and  restrained 
himself  from  producing,  if  reason  had  been  called  lo 
his  guidance.  While  this  is  clearly  enough  recog- 
nized in  regard  to  passions  of  a  sensuous  or  malevo- 
lent character,  it  is  a[U  to  be  overlooked  in  the  case 
of  the  more  amiable  feelings  of  benevolence.  Ikit 
all  experience  goes  to  show  that  the  indulgence  of 
these  feelings  without  rational  direction  may  often 
inflict  a  serious  injury  upon  the  very  objects  on 
whom  they  are  lavished.  This  has  always  been  pro- 
verbial with  regard  to  t^he  strongest  of  the  natural 
affections  —  i)arental,  and  in  particular  motherly,  love. 
Amid  the  complicated  social  evils  of  our  time  it  has 
also  become  manifest,  that  the  instinctive  emotion  of 
pity  for  distress  is  but  a  poor  guide  in  philanthropic 
effort,  leading  often  to  an  undiscriminating  charity 
which  is  a  wrong  at  once  to  the  giver,  to  the  receiver, 
and  to  society. 

(2)  But  even  the  cultured  sentiments  of  benevo- 
lence may  assume  a  place  to  which  they  are  not 
entitled  in  the  direction  of  the  moral  life.  The 
sentiment  may  lose  its  healthy  tone  and  function  as 
an  inspiration  to  deeds  of  beneficence,  and  may 
degenerate  into  a  maudlin  sentimentalism  that  ener- 
vates  practical  energy.  This  tendency  is  perhaps  a 
peculiar  temptation  of  persons  who  have  cultivated 
the  degree  of  refinement  necessary  to  enjoy  the  ideal 
indulgences  of  sentiment  which  are  found  in  the 
study  of  literature  and  art.  In  such  minds  it  may 
be  feared  that  the  essentially  egoistic  **  luxury  of 
pity"  is  not  infrccjuently  confounded  with  the  nobler 
altruistic    "luxury   of    doing   good,"  which   is  to  be 


i'l 


SI  I 


I  if. 


■ii 


332 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO    ETHICS. 


m 


i 


it    ■" 


i 


tf 


I 


:'iii 


purchased  often  only  at  the  cost  of  distasteful  and 
irksome  labors. 

The  obligations  of  benevolence,  then,  in  all  their 
fulness,  call  for  an  active  beneficence,  enhanced  by 
the  genial  warmth  of  a  kindly  sentiment.  There  are 
two  spheres  which  afford  large  scope  for  exercising 
these  obligations,  —  those  of  physical  and  of  moral 
well-being. 

With  regard  to  the  former,  it  has  been  already 
pointed  out  that  the  system  under  which  the  wealth 
of  the  world  is  distributed  leads  to  perplexing  ine- 
qualities ;  nor  does  it  seem  likely  that  these  can  be 
effectually  removed,  for  a  long  time  at  least,  by  any 
invention  of  Politics  or  Juris})rudence.  For  the 
present,  therefore,  the  remedy  must  be  found,  not  in 
any  attempt  to  enforce  the  bare  obligations  of  justice, 
but  rather  in  that  spirit  of  a  generous  morality  which 
does  not  wait  till  others  come  and  claim  their  rights, 
but  goes  out  to  seek  opportunities  of  doing  good 
where  no  determinate  claim  can  be  made. 

This  is  still  more  obvious  with  regard  to  the  meas- 
ures which  are  required  for  promoting  the  moral  well- 
being  of  men.  In  former  times  universally,  and  in 
many  countries  still,  these  measures  have  been  brought 
within  the  sphere  of  law  by  the  establishment  of 
national  churches,  by  religion  forming  an  element  of 
national  education,  and  by  the  suppression  of  all  prac- 
tices and  teachinirs  inconsistent  with  the  national 
religion.  But  in  all  ages  some  of  the  most  effective 
work  in  the  moral  warfare  of  the  world  has  been 
done,  not  by  the  regular  army,  but  by  volunteers ; 
and  even  the  work  of  the  professional  soldiers  de- 


nil 


SOCIAL   DUTIES. 


333 


x'ercisini: 


pends  for  its  efficiency  on  an  enthusiasm  of  good- 
ness, which  will  not  be  satisfied  with  fulfilling  the 
bare  obligations  exacted  by  justice,  but  is  ready  for 
any  sacrifice  to  promote  the  moral  elevation  of  men. 

But  the  most  effective  benevolence  is  that  which 
is  displayed,  not  in  efforts  of  a  vague  philanthropy, 
but  rather  in  kindly  language  and  deeds  of  love  to- 
wards those  with  whom  we  are  brought  particularly 
into  contact.  And,  therefore,  while  the  weightier 
matters  of  the  Law  of  Benevolence  must,  of  course, 
receive  chief  consideration,  a  place  in  the  social  code 
must  also  be  reserved  for  those  obligations  which  are 
sometimes  unfairly  degraded  below  the  moral  stage 
of  action  altogether,  or  at  best  somewhat  grudgingly 
admitted  to  recognition  among  the  minor  morals  of 
life.  These  are  the  obligations  of  sociability  —  officia 
conuncrciii  virtiitcs  Jioniilcticie.  They  involve,  to  b'  gin 
with,  an  injunction  to  sociability  in  general,  as  opposed 
to  an  isolation  and  inaccessibility  which  would  separ- 
ate a  man  from  all  kindly  relations  with  his  fellows  ; 
and  these  relations  themselves  all  point  to  the  use 
of  pleasing  manners  and  address  or  to  the  avoidance 
of  anything  offensive  in  action  or  speech.  These 
obligations,  therefore,  are  all  merely  so  many  modes 
of  manifesting  that  regard  for  others  which  consti- 
tutes a  rational  benevolence.  Even  the  formalities 
of  etiquette  point  to  the  same  end.  They  may  often 
be  quite  conventional ;  that  is  to  say,  different  forms 
may  equally  well  answer  the  same  purpose,  and  actu- 
ally do  so  in  different  countries.  But  it  is  necessary 
to  have  some  regulation  of  manners  in  social  inter- 
course ;  and  the  very  object  of  such  regulation  would 


:'    I- 


0 


Ml: 


•I: 

im.: 


334 


AN    IXTRODUCTION   TO    KTIHCS. 


i.| 


im 


be  defeated  if  each  individual  were  to  be  his  own  legis- 
lator. Consequently,  however  conventional  the  forms 
of  courtesy  may  be,  unless  they  are  positively  immoral, 
they  acquire  the  force  of  a  moral  obligation  when  they 
are  enjoined  by  recognized  social  authority.  For  even 
if  they  were  nothing  but  graceful  forms,  still  (as  Kant 
says  finely  in  speaking  of  them)  "  to  associate  the 
Graces  with  virtue  is  itself  an  obliiration  of  virtue."  ^ 
Aristotle,  at  a  loss  for  a  term  to  denote  the  virtue 
of  sociability,  describes  it  as  friendship  without  pas- 
sionate affection  —  tfilla    ui'Fv    nudovg    y((l    toD   nrE^j'ftJ'.^ 

This  may  be  too  strong  a  distinction  ;  for  even  court- 
esy, to  be  perfect,  implies  a  general  disposition  to 
kindliness  :  but  certainly  the  intensest  form  of  the 
benevolent  virtues  is  found  in  that  definite  direction 
of  benevolent  se  timent  which  is  understood  by 
friendship.  The  student  of  ethical  literature  can 
scarcely  fail  to  be  struck  by  the  fact,  that  friendship 
forms  a  much  more  prominent  factor  of  the  moral 
code  in  the  ancient  world  than  in  the  modern,  in  which 
it  is  treated  rather  as  a  mere  sentiment ;  and  when 
we  recall  some  of  the  splendid  examples  of  friendly 
devotion  by  which  the  moral  life  of  antiquity  was 
enriched,  the  query  will  naturally  occur  to  the  mind, 
whether  modern  life  has  not  lost  something  which  it 
would  have  been  well  to  retain,  by  friendship  losing 
its  ancient  moral  dignity. 

1  Werke,  Vol.  VII.  p.  2S4  (Il.irtenstein's  ed.).  It  may  be  observed  in  rela- 
tion to  these  oblit,'ations,  tiiat  the  moral  life  passes  through  the  same  evolution 
as  in  the  case  of  others.  Kuder  civilizations  often  develop  an  elaborate  code  of 
external  formalities  which  are  enforced  with  punctilious  scrupulosity,  but  which 
are  greatly  simplified  with  an  increasing  regard  for  their  spirit.  See  Mill's 
British  l)idia,  Vol.  I.  p.  421. 

•■!  lUh.  mcom.,  IV.  6, 


PERSONAL   DUTIES. 


335 


the  forms 
'  immoral, 
vhcn  they 
For  even 
[  (as  Kant 
)ciate  the 
virtue."  ^ 
the  virtue 
hout  pas- 

ven  court- 

osition  to 

"m   of  the 

direction 

rstood   by 

ature   can 

friendship 

the  moral 

,  in  which 

and  when 

friendly 

quity  was 

the  mind, 

■y  which  it 

lip  losing 

served  in  rela- 
lanie  evolution 
alx)ratc  code  of 
lity,  but  wliich 
t.    See  Miirs 


CHAPTER   IT. 


I'ERSOXAL    DUTIES. 


These  obligations  have  for  their  immediate  object 
only  the  individual  himself  upon  whom  they  devolve, 
though  indirectly  of  course  they  may  affect  others 
as  well. 

Sometimes  an  analogy  is  drawn  between  personal 
and  social  obligations  by  describing  the  former  as 
implying  a  certain  kind  of  justice.  Occasionally  this 
analogy  strikes  the  popular  mind,  and  finds  expression 
in  po})ular  language.  A  man  who  violates  his  per- 
sonal duties,  as,  for  example,  by  the  fatal  excesses  of 
intemperance  or  by  the  ruinous  extravagance  of  spend- 
thrift recklessness,  suffers  so  often  precisely  as  he 
would  do  from  an  injury  inflicted  by  others,  that  it  be- 
comes natural  and  common  to  speak  of  him  as  doing 
an  injury  to  himself.  It  is  therefore,  in  popular 
phrase,  often  required  of  a  man  that  he  shall  be  just 
to  himself  as  well  as  to  others. 

This  analogy  obviously  rests  on  the  patent  distinc- 
tion between  the  different  aspects  in  which  we  may 
view  ourselves.  There  is  a  higher  self,  represented 
by  the  universal  reason  of  which  we  partake ;  there 
is  a  lower  self,  represented  by  the  merely  natural  or 
non-rational  impulses  of  our  sensibility  :  and  when  a 
man's  life  is  surrendered  to  the  control  of  non-rational 


I 


ii 


\ 


tit 


^ 


3^ 


AN  INTRODUCTION    TO    i:illlCS. 


) 


1;!    • 

r, 


H 

A 


n 


1  wjf Jf^.i 


i  iiWIR  ■■ 


;■«•  M 


hi  ■•'■ 


impulses  that  overbear  the  decisions  of  reason,  his 
lower  self  may  with  a  certain  truth  be  described  as 
unjust  to  his  higher  self.  This  description  is  familiar 
to  the  student  of  Plato,  beini;  based  on  a  general 
analogy,  of  which  that  [)hilosopher  is  fond,  between 
the  individual  and  the  State,  On  this  view  dixuioavfi/, 
which  might  be  rendered  riir^itconsju'ss  rather  than 
j/isthr,  is  the  moral  character  attained  by  harmo- 
niously regulating  all  the  various  powers  of  our  na- 
ture, just  as  in  the  State  dix(tioavt'}j  is  secured  by  the 
harmonious  co-operation  of  all  the  different  classes 
of  society.  ^ 

Still  there  is  a  real  distinction  between  personal 
and  social  obligations.  In  fact,  the  moral  history  of 
mankind  exhibits  a  certain  struggle  between  them 
for  primacy.  This  struggle  does  not  arise  from  any 
inherent  antagonism  between  the  two  spheres  of 
duty,  but  rather  from  the  inevitable  finitude  of  man. 
With  but  a  limited  amount  of  energy  at  his  disposal, 
in  order  to  effectual  work  man  is  obliged  to  concen- 
tratc  that  energy  upon  a  limited  field  ;  and  conse- 
quently the  interests  of  the  moral  life  often  render  it 
imperatively  necessary  for  an  individual  or  for  an 
age,  that  their  moral  efforts  should  be  directed 
towards  some  specific  end,  —  the  suppression  of  one 
vice,  the  culture  of  one  virtue.  It  is  thus  that  the 
two    spheres   of    moral    obligation,    though    equally 

1  Plato's  Republic,  Book  IV.  Aristotle  argues  that  a  man  cannot  injure 
liimself ;  but  this  is  by  reverting  to  the  strict  definition  of  justice  and  injus- 
tice, while  lie  admits  that,  in  view  of  tiie  distinction  between  tlie  rational  and 
non-rational  jiarts  of  tlie  soul,  a  man  may  be  unjust  to  himself  {Etli.  Nicom. 
V.  15).  He  also  points  out  that  there  is  a  wide  sense  in  which  justice,  or 
rather  righteousness  ((5(ici/(0(Tl1')/),  is  coextensive  witii  all  virtue  {Il)iil.,Y.  i.). 


i 


ison,  his 
:ribcd  as 
familiar 
general 
between 
ixmoaci'ij, 
ler  than 
'  harmo- 
t  our  na- 
il by  the 
t  classes 

personal 

listory  of 

len  them 

from  any 

heres    of 

of  man. 

isposal, 

concen- 

conse- 

render  it 

for  an 

directed 

of  one 

that  the 

equally 

nnot  injure 
;c  ;\iul  injus- 
rational  and 
Hf/i.  Nicom. 
justice,  or 
nd.,Y.  I.). 


rKRSONAL   DUTIKS. 


117 


essential  to  the  perfect  moral  character,  may  receive 
very  unocpial  jirominence  in  different  individuals,  or 
in  the  same  individual  at  different  times,  or  at  differ- 
ent stages  in  the  moral  history  of  mankind. 

For  example,  asceticism  has  commonly  led  to  a  cer- 
tain isolation  of  the  individual  from  society,  either  by 
his  adopting  the  life  of  the  recluse,  or  by  some  more 
moderate  form  of  retirement.  This  is  inevitably 
followed  by  a  more  or  less  complete  abandonment 
of  all  the  duties  of  civic  life  as  well  as  those  of  an 
active  philanthropy,  and  by  a  more  or  less  exclusive 
devotion  to  personal  culture.  This  direction  of  prac- 
tical asceticism  has  been  represented  in  those  specu- 
lative ethical  systems,  like  ancient  Stoicism,  which 
tend  towards  an  ascetic  view  of  the  moral  life.^ 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  an  opposite  tendency, 
which  also  cramps  the  moral  growth,  to  undervalue 
self-culture,  and  thus  indirectly  to  retard  the  progress 
of  social  morality.  If  the  ascetic  is  apt  at  times  to 
waste  his  energies  in  morbid  brooding  over  the  salva- 
tion of  his  own  soul,  it  must  n^^':  be  forgotten  that 
every  human  being  has  a  soul  to  save.  He  has  to 
save  his  soul,  indeed,  by  losing  it,  — to  save  his  higher 
self  by  losing  his  lower ;  but  this  higher  self  must  be 
saved  from  the  ruinous  tyranny  of  the  lower,  if  he  is 
to  be  free  to  expand  towards  those  universal  aims 
which  form  the  supreme  end  of  life.  It  is  this  regard 
for  self  in  the  higher  sense  of  the  term,  — this  obli- 
gation to  seek  our  own  moral  well-being,  —  that  con- 
stitutes the  essential  nature  of  all  personal  duty.  If, 
therefore,  from  one  point  of  view,  justice  may  include 

1  Zoller's  Stoics,  Epicureans,  and  Sceptics^  pp.  301-308. 


i      !i 


>,    I--, 


[•  ♦• 


!   f 


It  ■  ••■  '  ■ 

m 


33^ 


AN    IXTRODUCTION   TO   KTIIICS. 


all  virtue,  it  may,  from  another  point  of  view,  be  said 
with  equal  truth,  that  all  virtue  is  included  in  per- 
sonal goodness.  It  is  this  truth  that  finds  an  ex- 
aggerated and  one-sided  expression  in  the  egoistic 
theories  of  Morals  ;  and  liacon  saw  this  truth  when, 
in  "  The  New  Atlantis,"  he  ascribed  to  the  people  of 
Bensalem  the  saying,  "  That  the  reverence  of  a  man's 
self  is,  next  religion,  the  chiefest  bridle  of  all  the 
vices." 

As  the  personal  duties  aim  at  the  moral  good  of  the 
individual  on  whom  they  devolve,  —  at  the  culture 
of  humanity  in  his  own  person,  —  they  may  be  appro- 
priately classified,  in  reference  to  the  different  de- 
partments of  human  nature,  as  duties  of  bodily,  of 
intellectual,  and  of  moral  culture. 

§  I.    Duties  of  Bodily  Culture. 

In  the  low  morality  of  savage  life  there  is  a  certain 
care  for  the  body,  which  is  often  trained  to  marvel- 
lous power  and  accuracy  in  some  directions.  But  all 
this  culture  is  hampered  by  a  narrow  moral  ideal. 
The  body  of  the  savage  is  treated  like  that  of  a  highly 
developed  animal ;  and  even  under  this  treatment  the 
ideals  of  savage  life  often  lead  to  its  degradation  by 
being  subjected  to  shocking  tortures  for  the  cultiva- 
tion of  endurance  or  of  fashionable  malformations. 

When  grander  ideals  dawn  upon  the  mind,  the 
body  is  apt  to  be  treated  as  if  it  were  merely  the 
organ  of  animal  life,  and  had  no  connection  with 
the  si)iritual  aims  of  humanity.  This  has  been  a  fea- 
ture of  extreme  asceticism,  which  in  its  more  fanatical 
excesses  has  found    a  morbid    satisfaction  in  horrid 


m. 


rKRSONAI,    ni'TIKS. 


39 


vv,  be  said 
c;d  in  pcr- 
kIs  an  cx- 
e  egoistic 
uth  when, 
:  people  of 
of  a  man's 
of   all  the 

;ood  of  the 
he  culture 
'  be  appro- 
iferent  de- 
bodily,  of 


a  certain 
o  marvel- 
But  all 
oral   ideal. 

f  a  highly 
itment  the 
idation  by 
le  cultiva- 
nations. 
mind,  the 
[lerely  the 
:tion  with 
)cen  a  fea- 
c  fanatical 

in  horrid 


forms  of  meanincrless  self-torture  and  dis^rustin;:  fdthi- 


)f 


;rson. 


Th( 


)f    cult! 


dieth( 


)rogress 

mainly  intellectual  or  mainly  moral  and  religious,  has 
brought  a  truer  estimate  of  the  function  which  the 
body  fulfils  in  the  life  of  man.  The  culture  of  the 
ancient  Greeks,  for  e.\ample,  ,vhich  was  predominat- 
ingly scieniific  and  aesthetic,  led  to  a  study  of  physi- 
cal beauty  which  reached  almost  the  intensity  of  a 
religious  cult.  The  civilization  also  of  the  ancient 
Hebrews,  which  was  almost  exclusively  directed  by 
moral  antl  religious  ideas,  developed  an  elaborate 
code  of  sanitary  provisions,  that  might  have  put 
modern  letrislation  to  shame  two  or  three  <renerations 


ago. 


In  the  modern  world  the  progress  of  physical 
science  and  the  spread  of  an  acquaintance  with  its 
elementary  teachings  in  common  education  have 
wakened  a  new  interest  in  the  external  world  and 
man's  relation  to  it,  while  the  progress  of  Physiology 
and  Pathology  has  given  a  fuller  control  over  the 
causes  of  disease  and  the  conditions  of  healthy  living. 
Religious  faith  must  assume  that  the  laws  of  nature 
are  expressions  of  the  Divine  will ;  and  therefore  at 
the  present  day  intelligent  religious  teachers  unhesi- 
tatingly proclaim  the  duty  of  devout  submission  to 
the  will  of  God  as  revealed  in  the  laws  of  bodily  life 
and  health,  while  no  body  of  educated  men  advocates 
any  form  of  physical  degradation  as  a  road  to  Divine 
favor. 

The  duties  of  bodily  culture  imply  an   obligation. 

1  Tlie  Parsec  cotlo  deserves  rccognit'um  for  the  same  feature.  Sec  Gould's 
Origin  of  h'c'/igioi/s  Dclicf^  cluipter  xi. 


m 


li! 


i 


|i. 


« 


hm'^m' 


,•' 


340 


.w   i.NiKoitrci  ION   ro  i;riiii's. 


cither  to  do,  or  not  to  (1(^,  certain  actions;  and  con- 
sequently tliey  may  be  divided  into  two  classes  as 
positive  or  negative. 

(A)  Negative  cluiies  to  the  body  arc  like  those  of 
justice,  which  are  in  fact  apt  to  assume  a  negative  form 
too  ;  they  are  of  a  more  determinate  character,  speci- 
fying with  some  defmiteness  the  precise  actions  which 
ought  to  be  avoided.  Thus,  for  example,  the  laws  of 
bodily  health  form  a  physical  foundation  for  duties, 
like  those  of  temperance  and  chastity,  which  guard 
the  body  against  injuries  resulting  from  the  ruinous 
excesses  of  sensuality.  A  ground  is  also  laid  for  the 
prohibition  of  all  meaningless  forms  of  self-torture, 
like  many  of  the  horrible  penances  of  the  ascetic, 
which  inflict  physical  pain  without  having,  as  in  a 
surgical  operation,  any  rational  end  in  view.  It  may 
be  said,  then,  that  all  intelligent  moral  codes  are 
agreed  in  regard  to  the  negative  duties  which  require 
men  to  abstain  from  actions  that  are  injurious  to 
bodily  health  ;  but  with  this  general  agreement  in  re- 
gard to  what  are  comparatively  minor  injuries,  it  must 
on  first  reflection  appear  strange  that  any  question 
should  have  been  raised  in  reference  to  the  e.\tremest 
injiuy  which  can  be  inflicted  on  the  body,  —  that  of 
destroying  its  life.  Here,  however,  we  come  upon 
what  is  perhaps  the  profoundest  discrei)ancy  that 
exists  among  moralists  in  reference  to  particular  rules 
of  conduct. 

This  discrepancy  of  opinion  on  the  moral  character 
of  suicide  represents  in  general  the  difference  be- 
tween the  moral  conceptions  of  Pagan  antiquity  and 
those  of  Christendom.     Tt  must   not  indeed  be  sup- 


PERSONAL   DUTIES. 


341 


;  and  con- 
classes  as 

kc  those  of 

gativc  form 

LCter,  speci- 

tions  which 

the  laws  of 

for  duties, 

hich  guard 

;he  ruinous 

laid  for  the 

self-torture, 

he    ascetic, 

ng,  as   in  a 

w.     It  may 

.  codes  are 

lich  require 

ijurious   to 

ment  in  rc- 

ies,  it  must 

1/  question 

)  extremest 

—  that  of 

come  upon 

l)ancy  that 

icular  rules 

d  character 
erence  be- 
tiquity  and 
'cd  be  sup- 


posed that  ancient  Pagan  thought  viewed  the  act  of 
suicide  universally  with  favor.  Possibly  popular  sen- 
timent may  have  been  opposed  to  it  as  completely  as 
at  the  present  day  ;  in  fact,  the  laws  of  some  Greek 
states  seemed  to  indicate  disapproval,  probably  on 
religious  grounds.  Among  speculative  moralists  also, 
not  a  few  illustrious  authorities,  from  Plato  and  Aris- 
totle down  to  Plutarch  and  Plotinus,  opposed  the 
legitimacy  of  suicide  by  various  arguments,  religious, 
political,  and  ethical.^  Hut  tlie  action  found  a  long 
line  of  illustrious  champions  among  the  moralists  of 
the  ancient  world,  some  of  whom  gave  an  additional 
force  to  their  speculative  theory  by  carrying  it  very 
deliberately  into  practice.  Nor  was  this  champion- 
ship confined  to  one  school.  It  was  perhaps  most 
prominently  associated  with  Stoicism,  l^ut  to  the 
Epicurean  also,  suicide  ajipeared  a  legitimate  and 
dignified  way  of  escape  from  irremedia])le  miseries. 
In  fact,  in  one  instance  —  that  of  Hegesias,  the 
Cyrenaic  —  the  l^.picurean  theory  of  the  Sovereign 
Good  was  associated  with  a  speculative  pessimism 
which  led  to  an  eloquent  advocacy  of  suicide  as  its 
logical  issue  in  iiractice.'-^ 

It  is  evident,  then,  that  a  powerful  current  of 
thought  in  the  ancient  world  tended  towards  a  view 
of  suicide  very  different  from  that  which  i)re\ai]s  in 
modern  life  ;  and  there  can  lie  little  doubt  that  this 

1  TiiL'se  arguniPiits  arc  summarized  in  Lecky's  Ilhtory  of  F.iirof-cau 
Morals,  vol.  ii.  p.  46.  Tliis  wmk  gives  w\\  .ulmiial)!o  acxdunt  ut  llic  vii'ws  u{ 
ancient  pliiidsophors.  as  well  as  of  the  jnactici.'  i>f  aiitiipiity.  ."^ec  vol.  i.  p|). 
223-235,  wluri'  tlie  student  will  find  also  numerous  references  to  ancient 
authorities  ami  modern  monograplis  on  the  subject. 

2  Cicero,  '/'/o. .  /->/.*/.,  i.  34. 


342 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO  ETHICS. 


'!rt 


f''i 


f ' 

^, 

Vr 

i  r  ■ 

m 

if 

w 

1  i 

1 

w 

'J 
i 

• 

b' 

rA 

« 

« 

■-   1 ' 

=    ■    .■{:.■'.' 

i    '    4^:1' 

11^ 

chani^c  has  been  mainly  due  to  the  influence  of  Chris- 
tianity. The  modifications  which  Christianity  has 
wrouL,dit  in  the  moral  consciousness  of  men,  have 
been  already  ascribed  rather  to  a  general  chani^e  in 
the  point  of  view  than  to  specific  teachings  on  par- 
ticular subjects.  In  the  present  case,  though  the 
New  Testament  contains  no  deliverance  on  suicide, 
the  whole  attitude  of  Christian  thought  revealed  itself 
in  the  unequivocal  condemnation  of  Pagan  theory  and 
practice,  —  a  condemnation  which  has  been  uniformly 
sustained  from  the  time  of  the  early  Fathers.  While 
various  minor  influences  at  work  in  Christianity  may 
have  contributed  partly  to  this  result,  it  has  been 
mainly  brought  about  by  the  radical  change  of  view 
which  Christianity  has  produced  in  reference  to  the 
sufferings  of  human  life.  It  is  true  that  under  Pagan- 
ism at  times  Stoical  apathy  met  these  evils  with  a 
kind  of  noble  endurance,  which  restrained  the  sufferer 
from  a  sudden  resort  to  the  relief  of  suicide,  and 
softened  for  him  the  blows  of  fortune.  The  senti- 
ment of  Horace  is  in  fact  not  uncommon  in  ancient 
literature  :  — 

"  Levins  fit  paticntia 
Quicc|uid  coirigcrc  est  ncfas." 

But  this  patient  attitude  never  gets  beyond  the 
dogged  endurance  of  a  fate  against  which  it  is  futile 
to  struggle  or  com})lain  ;  it  never  rises  to  the  invig- 
orating confidence  whirli  not  merely  sul^mits  to  the 
trials  of  life  as  inevitable,  but  accepts  them  with 
a  cheerful  and  even  grateful  conviction  that  tliey 
form  the  wise  discii)line  of  an  Infinite  Love  that  is 
invariably  working  for  our  good. 


"^. 


rKKSDXAI.    Dl'Tir.S. 


343 


cc  of  Chris- 
tianity has 
men,   have 
chani^c  in 
igs  on  par- 
: hough    the 
on  suicide, 
sealed  itself 
theory  and 
I  uniformly 
trs.    While 
ianity  may 
has  been 
ige  of  view 
nee  to  the 
ider  l\igan- 
nils  with  a 
:he  sufferer 
.licide,   and 
The  senti-- 
in  ancient 


3yond  the 
it  is  futile 
the  invig- 

nits  to  the 

them  with 
that   they 

•ve  that  is 


Occasional  discussions  in  modern  times,  like  Hume's 
Essay  on  Suicide,  have  revived  the  tone  of  ancient 
Paganism  in  the  treatment  of  the  subject  ;  but  they 
have  had  little  effect  in  checking  the  general  current 
of  Christian  thought.^ 

(/>)  But  personal  goodness  implies  not  merely  the 
negative  virtue  of  abstaining  from  voluntary  acts  or 
negligences  which  are  injurious  to  the  body;  it  re- 
quires also  that  positive  care  for  its  health,  which  will 
make  it  an  effective  instrument  of  our  highest  wel- 
fare.  Of  course  all  such  positive  effort  is  limited  by 
physical  conditions  ;  and  many  a  noble  man  has  been 
obliged  to  carry  on  the  work  of  his  life  amid  an  heroic 
struggle  against  bodily  infirmities,  —  results  of  acci- 
dent, or  other  causes,  like  heredity,  beyond  his  con- 
trol, l^ut  even  in  such  cases  intelligent  moral  prin- 
ciple, guiding  the  daily  habits,  may  go  a  long  way 
towards  neutralizing  physical  disadvantages  ;  and  rot 
a  few  instances  are  on  record  of  men  like  Kant,  who 
with  a  comparatively  feeble  pJiysiquc  have  yet  suc- 
ceeded, not  only  in  living  a  long  life,  but  in  filling  it 
with  labors  of  the  highest  value  to  the  human  race. 

This  general  obligation  to  maintain  the  body  in 
healthy  vigor  assumes  the  form  of  a  more  special 
duty  in  consequence  of  the  fact,  that  nature  does 
not  spontaneously  supply  the  means  of  physical  well- 
being,  but  compels  men  to  procure  these  l)y  labor. 
For  the  vast  majority  of  mankind  this  implies  the 
adoption  of  an  industrial  calling,  by  which  the  means 
of  living  are  secured.     In  the  i)ursuit  of  such  a  call- 

1  Tlic  influence  nf  Cliristiaiiity  in  nimlifyin.i;  opinion  on  tliis  suljjcct  is 
fully  discussed  by  Mr.  Locky  in  \'(il.  11.  pp.  pt-^'j- 


'  \  1 


n- 


i 


^:? 


344 


AN    INTRODUCTION  TO  KTIIICS. 


1t 

■ 

(, 

1' 

1  I 

■         ' 

t 

il' 

)  l<. 

':: 

'>•■:; 


i; 


ing  there  is  often  engendered  an  excessive  craving 
for  material  wealth  ;  but  contentment  with  extreme 
poverty  may  impede  moral  development  quite  as  ef- 
fectually. Men  must  enjoy  a  certain  relief  from  the 
uigont  clamor  of  bodily  wants  before  they  can  aspire 
to  i>piritual  culture  in  any  form  ;  and  there  is  there- 
fore a  sound  moral  intelligence  in  the  wish  which 
shrinks  from  both  extremes  of  poverty  and  riches, 
and  seeks  merely  what  is  sufficient  for  the  purposes 
of  life.i 

The  duties  of  a  special  calling  give,  as  a  rule,  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  definiteness  to  the  bodily  training  that 
is  imposed  upon  each  individual,  by  pointing  to  cer- 
tain forms  of  sensitive  acuteness  or  of  muscular 
strength  or  skill  either  as  being  indispensable  to  his 
peculiar  work  or  as  tending  to  enhance  its  value.  For 
wc  are  thus  brought  back  to  the  fact,  that  the  body 
is  the  material  organ  of  a  higher  life,  —  an  instrumen- 
tality on  the  condition  of  which  depends  the  quality 
of  the  intellectual  and  moral  work  we  are  capable  of 
doing  in  the  world.  Thus  the  duties  of  bodily  cult- 
ure are  seen  to  be  imposed  by  the  demands  of  sj^i rit- 
ual life;  and  therefore  they  lead  to  the  duties  of 
intellectual  and  moral  culture,  which  they  subserve. 

§  2.    Duties  of  Intellectual  Culture. 

The  culture  of  intellectual  power  is  very  often 
treated  as  if  it  were  the  business  merely  of  certain 
special  occupations,  —  the  learned  professions,  as  they 
are  commonly  called  ;  and  in  many  minds  it  would 
excite  surprise  to  speak  of  such  culture  as  a  duty  of 

1  I'luv.  xx.\.  S,  9. 


rKRSONAL    hUTIKS. 


345 


c  craving 
i  extreme 
lite  as  ef- 
■  from  the 
:an  aspire 
;  is  thcre- 
ish  which 
id  riches, 
purposes 

ule,  a  cer- 
ining  that 
ig  to  cer- 
miiscular 
ble  to  liis 
ihie.  For 
the  body 
istrumen- 
le  quality 
apable  of 
•(lily  cult- 
of  sjiirit- 
thities  of 
ibserve. 


,M-y  often 
f  certain 
s,  as  they 
it  would 
.  duty  of 


men  in  general.  But  it  is  neither  the  obligation  nor 
the  privilege  of  any  class  of  men  to  monopolize  the 
advantages  of  the  intellectual  civilization  of  the  world. 
There  are  other  occupations,  which  require  as  exten- 
sive learning  and  as  high  intellectual  energy  as  the 
professions  that  are  specially  distinguished  in  popular 
language ;  while  there  is,  in  fact,  no  calling  in  life, 
no  rank  in  society,  which  may  not  have  its  worth 
enhanced  by  superior  intelligence,  and  degraded  by 
ignorance  and  stupidity. 

But  it  is  not  merely  in  the  special  occupations  of  a 
man's  life  that  he  finds  scope  for  intellectual  culture, 
Ju'cry  man  is  something  more  than  a  specialist :  a 
considerable  part  of  his  life  must  always  be  made  up 
of  the  general  activities  of  a  human  being.  K\'cn 
those  activities  which  are  apt  to  be  set  apart  from  all 
serious  moral  interests,  as  mere  amusements,  afford 
sufficient  opportunity  for  intelligent  selection.  Much 
of  th(3  common  degradation  of  humanity  may  be  traced 
to  the  want  of  that  culture  which  enables  men  to  find 
the  purest  relief  and  recreation  from  [)n)fessional 
tasks  in  intelle;:tual  pursuits,  —  in  the  enjoyments  of 
literature,  or  science,  or  art.  l^ut  it  is  in  regard  to 
the  moral  obligations  of  life  that  the  most  im[)erative 
demand  is  made  for  the  direction  of  cultured  intelli- 
gence. In  this  aspect,  however,  intellectual  culture 
becomes  a  branch  of  moral  culture. 

§  3,    Duties  of  Moral  Culture. 

Moral  culture  is  that  realization  of  the  moral  law  in 
human  Jife,  which  is  denoted  by  the  tern^  virtue;  and 


If!  ! 


'ii' 


I  r 


}\ 


i'^ 


346 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO  ETHICS. 


as  this  is  the  ultimate  end  of  moral  existence,  it  forms 
an  appropriate  close  to  a  treatise  on  moral  science. 
In  accordance  with  the  plan  sketched  at  the  open- 
ing  of   this    Book,  this   subject    is  reserved  for  the 


concluding  Part. 


■ft    I 


I 


III. 


s. 


ICC,  it  forms 
)ral  science, 
it  the  open- 
vcd  for  the 


PART   III. 


VIRTUE. 


As  already  defined,  virtue  is  the  realization  in 
subjective  experience  of  the  objective  law  of  duty.* 
Virtue  is,  therefore,  a  law  governing  the  subjective 
life.  It  is  not,  however,  a  law  imposed  by  nature, — 
an  instinct ;  it  is  a  law  atiopted  freely  by  reason,  that 
is,  a  /labit  formed  by  intelligent  volition. 

The  explicit  recognition  of  this  fact  is  due  mainly 
to  Aristotle,  and  it  forms  one  of  the  many  merits  of 
his  ethical  speculations.  15ut  his  presentation  of  the 
fact  is  somewhat  imperfect  ;  his  own  doctrine  is  qual- 
ified by  appearing  in  contrast  with  that  of  Socrates. 
The  Socratic  doctrine  made  virtue  a  cognition,  yvCmi^ ; 
and  Aristotle  very  truly  i)oints  out  that  it  is  not  a 
purely  intellectual  act,  nor  even  a  single  act  of  any 
kind,  but  a  habit,  'i^ic,  acquired  by  repeated  practice. 
The  two  doctrines,  however,  are  not  antagonistic  ; 
and  we  shall  find  that  Aristotle  himself  recognizes  a 
certain  truth  in  the  doctrine  of  Socrates.     For  the 

1  Professor  Si(l.i;\vick  lias  a  cliaptor  which  rIvcs  an  clalmrate  explanation 
of  tiie  distinction  between  virtue  and  duty,  and  points  to  some  subtle  shades 
of  meaning  involved  in  peculiar  uses  ot  these  words  (Mctliods  of  F.tfiiiSy  I?ook 
III.  chapter  ii,).  An  oUl  word,  .\reti>lii.^rv.  wliiih  i^  litcrallv  eciuivalent  to  tin; 
fiernian  Tut^t'iiilltlitf.  wouM  bean  api)ropriate  name  fur  this  part  ot  rCthics, 
thoiii;h  it  should  be  noted  that  in  (ireek  itpiTahtyui  had  a  similar  nieai\ing  to 
that  of  ifioXuyin.     See  above,  p.  2. 

347 


!* 


348 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO   KTHICS. 


R  ' 


n 


'■:l 


j... 

'':' 

iii^ 

habit  of  virtue  must,  like  the  moral  consciousness,^ 
extend  over  the  whole  ran<;e  of  conscious  life.  Now, 
in  accordance  with  the  Psychology  of  his  time,  Aris- 
totle distinguishes  two  spheres  in  the  life  of  the  soul, 
—  one  rational,  the  other  non-rational:  and  to  each 
of  these  he  assigns  a  separate  excellence,  or  virtue ; 
the  former  yielding  what  he  calls  tlu^  Dianoetic 
Virtues,  that  is,  the  virtues  that  are  purely  intel- 
lectual, while  the  latter  forms  the  ground  of  those 
virtues  whicii  he  names  Ethical 

But  the  truth  is,  that  Plato  ha  air  ji  »ly  pointed  to 
the  same  line  of  thought,  and  had  elabo;.>-:,d  on  that 
line  what  was  probably  the  first,  and  is  probably  also 
the  most  famous,  scientific  classification  of  the  vir- 
tues. In  this  classification,  reason  —  the  rational  or 
governing  faculty  of  the  soul  —  was  conceived  as 
capable  of  directing  itself  as  well  as  the  non-rational 
passions  ;  and  this  self-direction  of  reason  constitutes 
the  virtue  of  Wisdom  or  Prudence,  crocpiu  or  (pnut>),aig. 
Among  the  passions  was  recognized  a  distinction,  to 
which  reference  will  be  made  again,  between  those 
of  which  the  general  type  is  a  craving  for  pleasure 
(IniOvjiila),  and  those  involved  in  the  rebound  of  our 
sensibility  against  pain  (Ouuu:) :  and  in  Plato's  system 
the  rational  control  of  the  former  constitutes  the 
virtue  of  Temperance  (imifooirvt't,) ;  of  the  latter,  the 
virtue  of  Courage  (utdQfla).  Finally,  a  perfectly  reg- 
ulated moral  character,  in  which  all  these  virtues  arc 
developed  in  due  jiroportion,  forms  the  supreme 
virtue  of  Righteousness  (dixuioaui'tj)  in  the  largest 
sense  of  the  term. 

1  See  above,  p.  30. 


'S. 


VIRTUE. 


349 


isciousncss,^ 
life.  Now, 
time,  Aris- 
of  the  soul, 
nd  to  each 
2,  or  virtue ; 
:  Dianoetic 
)urely  intel- 
id  of  those 

'  pointed  to 
>  ^d  on  that 
obably  also 
of  the  vir- 
rational  or 
nceived  as 
ion-rational 
constitutes 

or  (fOiU'i^atg. 

tinction,  to 
veen  those 
)r  pleasure 
.uid  of  our 
o's  system 
:itutcs  the 
latter,  the 
■fectly  reg- 
virtues  arc 
:  supreme 
le   largest 


IMato's  classification  obtained  general  currency 
among  the  moralists  of  the  ancient  world,  especially 
in  the  Stoical  school*  It  was  also  adopted  by  the 
moralists  of  the  Christian  Church,  among  whom  the 
four  types  of  moral  excellence  came  to  be  known  as 
the  Cardinal  Virtues  ;  2  and  it  continued  to  hold  its 
place,  at  least  in  poi)ular  and  practical  treatises,  down 
into  modern  times.  The  princii^le  of  the  classifica- 
tion is  thoroughly  scientific,  and  needs  only  to  be 
modified  by  the  reciuirements  of  modern  science. 
Psychology  now  commonly  recognizes  three  great 
spheres  of  mental  life,  and  morality  must  extend 
its  influence  over  the  whole  of  these  :  it  must  be- 
come an  habitual  disposition  of  knowing  and  feel- 
ing and  willing.  This,  however,  is  to  be  borne  in 
mind,  that  habit,  as  formed  by  voluntary  activity,  is 
always  a  habit  of  willing,  though  it  be  a  habit  by 
which  the  will  has  been  trained  to  control  the  direc- 
tion of  knowledge  and  feeling  as  well  as  of  the  will 
itself. 

There  are  thus  three  aspects  in  which  virtue  may 
be  viewed,  and  to  each  a  separate  chapter  will  be 
devoted. 

1  Cicero  even  puts  it  into  the  mouth  of  Torquatus  tlie  Epicurean  in  Dg 
Fin.,  I.  13-16. 

2  This  designation  seems  to  have  been  applied  to  these  virtues  first  by  St. 
Ambrose  {SiJgxvick's  History  of  Ethics,  p.  44). 


\ 


I'  ^ 


r 

!( 
i  ■ 

;  ■ 

• 

f 

1 

,  ;  J 

,  .' 

if- 

•  ,' 

')', 

1  !■ 

1 
1 

iiJ! 

:  1 

i 


CHAPTER   L 


VIRTUE    AS    AN    INTELLECTUAL    HABIT. 


ii 


So  far  as  it  is  a  habit  of  cognition,  virtue  may,  of 
course,  be  fostered  by  the  general  training  of  the 
intellectual  powers  ;  for  it  is  an  elementary  principle 
of  educational  science,  that  the  primary  object  of 
education,  so  far  as  it  deals  with  the  intellectual 
powers,  is  to  cultivate  these  so  that  they  may  be 
applied  with  success  to  any  subject  that  may  be 
taken  in  hand.  Still,  even  the  finest  intelligence 
requires  a  certain  familiarity  with  any  region  of 
truth,  in  order  to  comprehend  it  clearly  and  readily  ; 
and  numerous  instances  occur  in  daily  life,  of  men, 
gifted  with  more  than  common  intelligence,  who  yet 
display  a  certain  obtuseness  in  departments  of  knowl- 
edge with  which  they  are  wholly  unacquainted.  The 
general  culture  of  intelligence,  therefore,  is  no  abso- 
lute security  against  the  dangers  of  moral  ignorance. 
All  that  can  be  said  in  regard  to  the  moral  value  of 
such  culture  is,  that  it  equips  iti,  possessor  for  grap- 
pling successfully  with  the  complicated  problems  of 
moral  life  ;  while  many  men,  though  endowed  with 
good  feeling  and  strong  will,  are  yet  apt,  from  want 
of  such  culture,  to  form  very  narrow  conceptions  of 
duty,  or  even  to  be  at  times  misled  into  serious  moral 
blunders. 

351 


I 


I  t' 


l!>    ! 


i 


I 


\k 


IM'  f 


352 


AN    INTRODUCTION    TO    I/IIIKS. 


f( 


The  value  of  ethical  knowledj^a*  for  a  life  of  virtue 
has,  therefore,  never  been  denied  or  i;;tiored  ;  it  has 
rather  at  times  been  exa^^j^erated.  Tiiis  was  the  case 
with  the  doctrine  of  Socrates,  —  that  all  virtue  is 
essentially  knowledL;e,  and  all  vice  ignorance, — a 
doctrine  which  influenced  the  ethical  speculations, 
not  only  of  his  immediate  followers,  but  of  all  sub- 
sequent moralists,  especially  of  those  in  sympathy 
with  Stoicism.  It  cannot  indeed  be  denied  that, 
with  explanation,  a  certain  amount  of  truth  miiy  be 
elicited  from  the  Socratic  doctrine.  It  is  obvious 
that  low  morality  in  action  is  in  pjeneral  connected 
with  a  low  moral  intelligence.  I'rom  personal  expe- 
rience, moreover,  every  man  knows  that,  however 
clear  and  exacting  his  conscience  may  be  in  ordinary 
circumstances,  there  are  times  when  it  is  warped,  or 
obscured,  or  even  wholly  blinded,  by  passion  ;  and  a 
plausible  defence  may  be  set  up  for  the  theory,  that 
in  the  crisis  of  any  vicious  action,  the  agent  does  nut 
in  reality  know  the  wrong  he  is  doing.  A  genuine 
knowledge  of  right  and  wrong,  it  might  be  urged, 
must  in  all  cases  so  determine  the  sentiments  and 
so  direct  the  will,  that  no  room  would  be  left  for 
any  action  out  of  harmony  with  the  knowledge  of 
the  moment.  Even  Aristotle,  while  combating  the 
Socratic  doctrine,  recognizes  the  truth  which  it 
embodies,  and  contends  that  the  vicious  man  does 
not  act  with  knowledge,  in  the  highest  sense  of  the 
term.^  On  this  interpretation,  however,  knowledge 
must  be  understood  in  a  special  and  profounder  sense 

1  /T///.  X/iOW..  VI I.  ^  14.     Till-  wliolc  ot  tlic  lirst  three  chapters  in   Book 
Vn.  are  iuten^tin^  in  this  connection. 


vnrrri',  as  an  ini'i.i  i.i'.cir  \i.  iiaiut 


153 


c  of  virtue 
ccl  ;  it  bus 
as  the  case 
1  virtue   is 
)nince,  —  a 
)eculations, 
of  all  sub- 
sympathy 
L-nied    that, 
uth  may  be 
is  obvious 
connected 
sonal  expe- 
it,   however 
in  ordinary 
i  warped,  or 
^ion  ;  and  a 
theory,  that 
;nt  does  not 
A  genuine 
t   be  urged, 
iments  and 
oe   left   for 
owledge  of 
abating  the 
1    which    it 
man   does 
ense  of  the 
knowledge 
under  sense 

luiptcrs  in   Book 


than  is  commonly  attached  to  the  term  as  denoting  a 
merely  intellectual  act  without  reference  to  its  emo- 
tional or  volitional  accompaniments.  In  this  pro- 
founder  sense  it  would  imply  an  assent,  not  merely 
of  the  intellect,  but  of  the  whole  nature,'  to  the 
moral  law. 

It  is  obvious,  then,  that  virtue  must  always  imply  a 
conscience  trained  into  a  habit  of  quickly  and  clearly 
discerning  what  is  right  in  the  varying  situations  of 
life.  Here,  however,  we  are  met  by  a  problem  which 
seems  to  raise  a  formidable  difficulty.  By  some  it 
has  been  questioned  whether  the  conscience  can  be 
educated,  and  the  negative  has  been  asserted  by 
eminent  writers. ^  On  the  whole,  the  question  is 
either  a  mere  dispute  about  the  meaning  of  the  word 
conscience,  or  it  resolves  itself  into  the  general  contro- 
versy about  the  nature  of  the  moral  consciousness.  If 
that  consciousness  is  of  purely  empirical  origin,  it  is  of 
course  wholly  a  product  of  education,  of  evolution  in 
time.  On  the  other  hand,  if  in  any  sense  its  origin 
transcends  the  processes  of  time,  then  in  that  sense 
it  cannot  be  educated.  No  faculty  or  organ  can 
receive  from  education  the  function  which  belongs 
to  it  by  its  very  nature.  You  cannot,  it  is  said  truly, 
educate  the  eye  to  see  or  the  ear  to  hear.  In  like 
manner,  if  conscience  is  to  any  extent  a  native  faculty 
of  the  human  mind,  you  cannot  by  education  impart 
to  it  the  function  which  it  possesses  in  itself.     But 

1  Compare  Lorimer's  theory  of  coi.  ionce  in  his  Institutes  of  Law,  Book 
I.,  chnp.  vi.  The  student  nii.Ljlit  lind  an  interest  in  tracin_t;  tlic  later  etliical 
and  thcoloj^ical  developments  of  the  torn,^  yvZait;,  noipia,  Trfarjs,  in  the  Moral 
and  Religious  riiilosophy  both  of  I'agan  and  Christian  thinkers. 

2  Sec  CaUlerwoud's  handbook  of  Moral  Philosophy,  p.  8l. 


354 


AN    INTRODUCTION'    TO   I'TIIICS. 


the  truth  is,  the  proper  function  of  conscience  is  not 
to  discern  the  (Hfference  between  ri^ht  and  wroni;  in 
the  abstract,  but  to  apply  the  al^stract  law  of  rii;ht  to 
concrete;  cases,  and  to  tliscern  what  it  demands  in 
the  varyini;  contingencies  of  daily  life.  This  func- 
tion of  conscience  can  be  educated  or  trained,  and 
all  the  difference  between  a  goutl  and  a  bad  man  may 
sometimes  lie  in  the  difference  of  this  education. 

This  education  may  be  viewed  either  in  its  general 
or  in  a  more  special  aspect. 


§  I.    General  Ediieaticn  of  Coiseience. 

Moral  cognition  is  realized  mainly  in  that  habitual 
functio!!  of  conscience  which  has  just  been  described, 
—  the  habit  of  interpreting  all  the  actions  of  life  in 
the  light  of  the  supreme  moral  law.  That  is  meixly 
another  way  of  saying  that,  in  oriler  to  [)erfect  virtue, 
the  mind  must  be  trained  to  think  habitually  of 
human  actions  in  reference  to  an  absolute  moral 
obligation,  —  an  obligiition  which  demands  uncon- 
ditionally that  they  shall  or  shall  not  be  done, 
\\\^\\  Utilitarians  acknowledge  that  our  moral  train- 
ing never  reaches  its  noblest  term  untd  we  cease 
our  hesitating  calculations  about  the  utility  of  right 
actions,  and  learn  the  habit  of  prompt  decision  to  do 
what  is  right  without  a  thought  of  the  consecpiences, 
simply  because  it  is  right.' 

This  is  the  ultimate  limit  that  is  reached  by  many 
minds  in  the  intellectual  culture  of  conscience  ;  and 
it    is    impossible   to   deny  the   nobleness  which  may 

1  See  MIU'm  Vttlitaruunr.m,  pp.  jiy-JSJ  (Aincr.  od.). 


VIKIl'l';    AS     \\    I\ll.l,I.i:<    ll'Ai      IIAIMI- 


35.") 


cicncc  is  not 
^nd  wroni;  in 
w  of  rii^ht  to 

demands    in 
This  func- 

traincd,  and 
bad  man  may 
ducation. 
in  its  Lioncral 


cicncc. 

that  habitual 
jcn  described, 
ons  of  hfe  in 
Kit   is  merely 
)erfeet  virtue, 
habitually   of 
)solute    moral 
lands    uncon- 
ot     be    done, 
moral  train- 
it  d  we   cease 
ility  ol   ri-ht 
lecision  to  do 
onse(.[uences, 

Ihcd  by  many 

Iscicncc  ;  and 

which  may 

IT.   Oil.). 


often  be  found  in  a  practical  moralil)  that  is  content 
to  recoL;ni/.e  the  absolute  (jl)liL;ation  of  ri_-ht  without 
seekini;  any  ulterior  _L;round  of  that  obligation.'  The 
same  thie  tyi)e  of  mind  may  be  discoveied  in  many 
other  limited  fields  of  mental  life,  thou-h  it  is  evi- 
dent that  reason  cannot  i)ermanently  or  universally 
ret  use  to  pass  the  limits  within  which  it  is  in  such 
cases  confined.  A  man  may  disi)lay  the  purest  math- 
ematical <j;enius  while  he  is  allowed  to  start  with  the 
definitions  and  postulates  and  a.xioms  of  (ieonu-try  as 
(il(i/(r,  as  i)rinciples  -ranted  ;  but  he  may  be  hopelessly 
puz/Jed  if  he  is  ret[uireii  to  face  the  (piestionin_i;s 
of  speculative  thouL;ht  with  reL;ard  to  the  foundation  of 
these  i)rincii)les.  In  like  manner  every  one  of  the 
special  sciences  allows  its  students  to  assume  a  consid 
erable  body  of  truth  without  beiiiL;'  ob!ii;'ed  to  know 
anything;'  of  its  ultimate  foundation.  And  the  same 
limitation  is  perhrij)s  more  frecpiently  met  with  in 
the  various  arts.  All  through  the  practical  life  of 
the  world,  men  an,'  found  who  accpnre  the  utmt)st 
expertner.s  in  working-  out  the  rules  of  their  art, 
while  these  rules  remain  mere  emjiirical  facts  of 
which  they  can  yive  little  or  no  scientific  expla- 
nation. 

It  need  not  therefore  be  matter  of  surjirise,  that  in 
the  art  which  is  the  common  concern  of  all  men  'here 
should  often  be  found  a  clear  knowledge  of  the  rules 
of  ri^ht  living,  along  with  a  ready  tact  and  a  tirm  will 
in  ai:)plying  them  to  practical  life,  but  without  any 

1  •'  Sucl>  knowledge  of  the  tyanscendcntal,  iinnieasiiialjle  cliaracti'i  of 
Duty,  we  call  the  basis  of  all  Gospels,  the  essence  of  all  Kclifiion  :  lie  who 
with  his  whole  soul  knows  not  tliis.  as  yet  knows  nolhing,  as  yet  is  properly 
nothing,"  —  Caki  vi  i:,  /'.'.vj./.)  v,  Vol.  III.  p.  S5  (ed.  iSj;). 


:i 


I 


\    \ 


\H  . 


M 


1^:1 


1, 


I        '; 


i 

,>ICII 

.!■'_■               ^    ■ 

■     ,t    i    iJj 

w 

:•?  '■ 

I    \ 

• 

«' 

35'^' 


A\  i\  ii;(>i>rcii()\    i<  t  i:i"iii<\s. 


interest  in  the  problem  of  their  ultimate  foiiiidation. 
It  is  obvious,  however,  that,  in  this  as  in  the  other 
arts  <jf  life,  it  is  imi)ossible  to  prevent  the  philosophic 
mind  from  incpiirin^L!;  iiito  the  meaninij;  and  reason  of 
the  rules  adopted.  The  very  existence — the  perma- 
nent practice  —  of  any  art  depends  on  the  vindication 
of  its  rules  by  connecting  them  logically  with  some 
rational  principle.  The  very  existence  of  morality, 
therefore  —  the  continued  practice  of  the  moral  law 
—  would  be  imperilled,  if  it  could  not  face  the  most 
searching  inquiry  into  the  origin  and  basis  of  its  obli- 
gation. It  may  be  said  indeed,  that  the  moral  life  can 
never  be  completely  paralyzed,  for  it  is  simply  one 
phase  of  the  life  that  is  essential  to  man  as  a  rational 
being  ;  but  the  moral  growth  may  in  many  particular 
cases  be  stunted,  and  its  noblest  fruits  prevented 
from  reaching  maturity,  by  the  withering  influence 
of  theories  which  ignore  or  deny,  which  question 
or  explain  away,  the  essential  nature  of  the  moral 
law. 

Now,  we  have  seen  that  the  peculiar  characteristic 
of  that  law  consists  in  the  fact  of  its  unconditional 
obligation.  J^ut  we  have  also  seen  that  a  ])urely  em- 
pirical or  naturalistic  system  of  Ethics  leaves  no  room 
for  any  obligation  of  the  kind.  On  such  a  system 
the  moral  life  of  man  becomes  merely  a  part  of  his 
natural  life,  every  action  of  his  is  simply  an  event 
resulting  from  the  forces  of  nature  workmg  in  accord- 
ance with  unvarying  laws.  If  this  be  the  case,  then 
it  is  an  idle  dream  to  imagine  that  any  man,  in  the 
conditions  under  which  he  is  placed,  could  ever  act 
otherwise  than  he  does  act.     The  laws  of  nature  de- 


VIRTUE    AS    AX    INTKI.I.I-crr  A  I.    IIAI  IT 


357 


oundation. 

the  other 
philosophic 
1  reason  of 
the  perma- 
vindication 
with  sonic 
if  morahty, 

moral  law 
:c  the  most 
i  of  its  obli- 
oral  life  can 

simply  one 
IS  a  rational 
ly  particular 
;  prevented 
influence 
1  question 
the  moral 

laracteristic 
\conditional 
purely  em- 
\  cs  no  room 
h  a  system 
piut  of  his 
y  an  event 

in  accord- 
e  case,  then 
man,  in  the 
uld  ever  act 

nature  de- 


termine with  absolute  certainty  how  he  is  to  act  in 
every  situation  of  his  life,  and  thus  exclude  the  pos- 
sibility of  any  law  which  could  n.'ally  require  him  to 
act  otherwise.      It  is  true,  l)y  that  power  of  ima^^ina- 
tion  which  often  disrei^ards  natural  conditions  we  may 
create  an  ideal  life  different  from  any  actual,  we  may 
fancy  ourselves  under  an  imperative  obli_L;-ation  to  act 
uj)  to  this  ideal,  and  free  to  obey  this  obligation.     Hut 
our  ideal  remains  a  mere  ideal.     The  oblij^ation,  which 
we  thus  imagine,  is  not  a  real  fact  ;  it  is  a  mere  fic- 
tion.    The  only  reality  which  this  ideal  re{)resents  is 
the  subjective  act  of  imagination  by  which  individuals 
create  the  beautiful  fiction  for  themselves  ;  and  the 
only  reality  in  moral  obligation  is  the  subjective  im- 
pulse of  the  feeling  which  an  individual  may  enter- 
tain,   that,    if    unfortunately    the    conditions    of    the 
moment  should  determine  his  actions  otherwise  than 
his  ideal  represents,  he  or  others  will  probably  suffer 
some  pain  or  be  deprived  of  some  pleasure.      But  the 
moral  law,  oeing  thus  reduced  to  an  ideal  fiction  of 
particular  minds,  can  no  longer  be  regartled  as  a  real 
law  of  the  universe  ;  and,  instead  of  attempting  to 
satisfy  scientific  intellig^.Mice  1^  showing  that  there 
is  a  certain  sense  in  which  obligation  may  still  be  pre- 
dicated of  a  subjective  feeling  afier  all  real  obligation 
as  an  objective  fact  has  been  explained  away,  it  is 
more   in   accordance  with  the  demands  of  scientific 
exactness  to  maintain  frankly,  as  many  naturalistic 
moralists   have  done,   that   moral   obligation   in    any 
real  sense  of  the  term,  that  is,  any  obligation  to  act 
otherwise  than  you  are    naturally  determined,   is   a 
meaningless  phrase. 


1. 1 


i   I 


;5« 


AN    IXTRODL'CTIOX    TO    I/niKS. 


u 


If,  then,  the  moral  law  is  a  re.  1  law  of  ilio  universe, 
and  its  oblii^ation  is  a  real  fact,  it  must  transcend  the 
laws  of  nature  h,  which  our  natural  life  is  deter- 
mined ;  and  the  moral  consciousness  of  man,  in  grasp- 
ing  such  a  law,  orings  him  into  touch  with  an  order 
of  things  which  transcends  the  order  of  nature.  That 
transcendental  order,  however,  implies  not  merely  an 
invariable  series  of  phenomena,  extended  through 
space  and  flowing  on  through  time  ;  nor  does  it  imply 
merely  a  Supreme  Force  producing  these  phenomena 
in  invariable  order  without  any  consciousness  of  what 
It  does.  The  moral  order  can  be  a  reality  only  if 
there  really  is  a  Perfect  Reason  who  knows  the  law 
of  a  perfectly  reasonable  life,  and  who,  as  Himself  the 
realization  of  that  law,  imposes  it  upon  all  reasonable 
beings.  In  such  a  Supreme  Reason  the  moral  order, 
which  for  us  is  an  ideal  to  be  realized,  becomes  a 
reality  eternally  existent  ;  and  the  infinite  authority 
of  the  moral  law  becomes  the  authority  of  an  Infinite 
Being,  in  whom  wisdom  and  rigiueousness  arc  per- 
fectly realized.  Thus  the  moral  consciousness  is  not 
comp.letely  satisfied  with  the  lifeless  abstraction  of 
duty  as  an  infinite  obligation.  It  demands  to  know 
what  this  infinite  obligation  means  as  a  living  fa^i, 
and  it  finds  the  vitalizing  force  of  the  fact  in  the 
authority  of  a  perfectly  wise  and  righteous  Heing. 
The  nn)ral  consciousness  thus  passes  over  into  the 
religious  consciousness  ;  the  consciousness  of  duty 
reaches  its  culmination  in  the  consciousness  of  God. 
Nature,  awed  by  the  grandeur  of  the  moral  revela- 
tion, sees  clearb;  "hat  she  must  have  derived  it  from 
a  source  transcending  her  (^^vn  limits. 


VIKTUK    A--'.     \N    lynCLI.KCl'UAL    IIAi'IT, 


359 


10  universe, 
mscend  the 
e  is  deter- 
n,  in  grasp- 
:h  an  order 
Lure.  That 
t  merely  an 
id  through 
)es  it  imply 
phenomena 
ess  of  what 
dity  only  if 
vvs  the  law 
limself  the 
reasonable 
noral  order, 
becomes  a 
c  authority 
an  Infinite 
ss  are  pcr- 
^ness  is  not 
itraction  of 
ds  to  ki",v 
living  fa.r, 
fact  in  the 
ous  Being, 
er  into  the 
;ss  of  duty 
L\ss  of  God. 
oral  revel a- 
ed   it   from 


'■  1  kiKW  nut  yet  tlic  gauge  i)f  time, 
Nor  wDic  the  inanacii.'s  of  space; 
I  felt  it  in  some  other  clime, 
I  saw  it  ill  .some  other  place. 

'Twas  when  the  heavenly  house  I  trod, 
And  lay  upon  the  breast  of  God."  * 

This  elevation  to  the  divine  point  of  view  is  facili- 
tate? 1  ami  confirmed  by  the  fact  that  the  moral  con- 
sciousness is  not  the  only  path  by  wliich  the  human 
mind  makes  this  ascent.  The  various  lines  of  thought, 
which  lead  to  the  Supreme  Intelligence,  are  com- 
monly si)oken  of  as  Arguments  for  the  ICxistence  of 
God.  The  examination  of  these  would  carry  us  away 
from  the  immediate  problems  of  Ethics  into  those  of 
Theology,  Here  it  need  only  be  observed  that  these 
so-called  arguments  are  apt  to  be  misunderstood  and 
depreciated  by  being  treated  as  arguments  in  the 
or(h"nary  sense  of  the  term.  An  argument,  as  formu- 
lated in  the  logical  syllogism,  is  a  procedure  by  which 
intelligence  passes  from  one  finite  i:)henomenon  or 
set  of  finite  phenomena  to  another  ;  and  it  is  impos- 
sible to  put  into  the  same  formula  the  procedure  by 
which  intelligence  rises  be'yond  the  sjihere  of  the 
finite  altogether  into  that  of  the  Infinite.  This  pro- 
cedure may  be  represented  as  running  along  v:iri()us 
lines,  such  as  those  of  teleology  and  ontology,  as  well 
as  that  of  the  moral  consciousness.  lUit  substantially 
all  the  so-called  arguments  are  merely  different  state- 
ments of  the  same  tiaith,  that  all  intelligent  activity 
assumes  that  its  object  is  j)art  of  aa  intelligible 
system,  and  that  therefore  all  the  (ibject.s  of  the  intcl- 

1  FfKiii  M.Ttthcw  .Aiiidlil'^  lytic  entitled  il/iJ>'<////^'. 


:!^:' 


it' 


,■> 


360 


AN    INTRODUCTION    TO    KTIIICS. 


ligiblc  universe  arc  comprehended  within  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  Supreme  Intelligence.  This  is  in 
reality  "  that  primordial  truth  which  transcends  all 
proof,"  —  "the  truth  which  transcends  experience  by 
underlying  it."  ^  These  i)hrases  from  the  most  elab- 
orate exposition  of  Agnostic  Evolutionism  in  our  day 
express  a  fact  which  has  been  more  or  less  expli- 
citly recognized  by  all  the  great  thinkers  of  the  world, 
—  the  fact  that  all  processes  of  intelligence,  whether 
we  call  them  proofs  or  experiences,  or  by  any  equiva- 
lent name,  imply  a  truth  which  is  not  a  mere  particu- 
lar conclusion  reached  by  one  or  some  of  themselves, 
but  is  an  universal  postulate,  without  which  they 
would  all  be  meaningless  and  futile.  It  is  surely 
little  short  of  a  contradiction  in  terms  to  maintain, 
that  all  those  processes  of  intelligence,  by  which  the 
universe  of  reality  is  becoming  more  intelligible 
to  human  beings  from  age  to  age,  postulate,  as 
their  universal  implication,  that,  in  its  final  analysi  , 
the  reality  in  the  universe  is  omelhing  absolutely 
unintelligible. 

But  we  are  not  concerned  so  much  with  the 
f^eneral  validity  of  the  procedure  by  which  human 
thought  rises  to  the  Supreme  Inleiligencc  who  is 
manifested  in  the  intelligibility  of  the  universe:  we 
are  interested  in  the  procedure,  m-iinly  as  the  method 
by  which  ':he  moral  consciousness  is  elevated  to  a 
clear  cognition  of  duty  in  il  .  esser.tial  nature  as  an 
unconditional  obligation.  Oorinusly,  the  mind  is  by 
this  procedure  liberated  from  the  bi.'is  of  scctionnl 
prejudices,  and  raised  to  the  universal  point  of  view^ 

1  Spencers  J'^irst  /'riuti/Zes, 


iiisi 


!lii' 


vikiri:  AS  .\\  IN  ri:i.i.i:(ii  Ai,  iiai;it. 


;oi 


n  the  con- 
This  is  ill 
nsccnds  all 
pcrioncc  by 
most  clab- 
i  in  our  day 

less  cxpli- 
f  the  world, 
CO,  whether 
any  eqiiiva- 
ere  particu- 
themselves, 
whieh  they 
't  is  surely 
:()  maintain, 
^  vvhieh  the 

intelliL;'ible 
)stiilate,    as 

il  analysi  , 

absolutely 

with  the 
ieh  luimaii 
ice  who  is 
i verse :  we 

he  method 
\ated   to  a 

ure  as  an 
mind  is  by 
f  sectional 
it  of  view, 


in  estimatiiiL;"  actions.  It  learns  to  see  th.ein  "  sith 
spccii'  (Ctcniitatisy''  to  scan  them  as  they  may  be 
supposed  to  appear  to  the  Infinite  Intelligence.  The 
value  of  this  mental  attitude  for  the  moral  life  has  in 
all  ages  met  with  ieco<;Miition.  ICven  in  ancient 
Pagan  literature,  that  is  a  normal  and  not  infrequent 
sjntiment,  which  has  l)een  e.\i)ressed  by  Cicero  :  — 
"  Nemo  vir  magnus  sine  aliquo  atllatu  divino  unquam 
fuit."i 

But  the  value  of  the  religious  attitutlc  for  the  moral 
purposes  of  life  could  not  be  moi'e  strikingly  evinced 
llian  in  the  various  attempts  of  modern  scepticism 
to  construct  a  religion  that  will  give  a  moral  inspira- 
tion to  life,  without  assuming  the  existence  of  any 
Supreme  Object  of  worship.  Tlven  Mr.  Mill,  with  all 
the  extreme  caution  of  his  I'jni)iricism,  though  he 
denies  that  we  have  any  k)towlcdi^c  of  realities  corre- 
sponding to  the  ideals  of  religious  belief,  yet  advocates 
the  indulgence  of  iuiiv^iHtUioii  in  the  sphere  of  these 
ideals,  as  a  legitimate  stimulus  to  moral  endeavor.- 
It  was,  perhaps,  the  same  idea  that  Voltaire  intendetl 
to  express  in  the  coarser  phrase,  that,  if  there  were 
not  a  God,  it  would  be  necessary  to  invent  one. 

For  the  jnirposes  of  the  moral  life,  liowever,  reli- 
gious aspiration  must  not  be  allowed  to  evaporate  in 
a  vague  abstracti(jn  of  the  divine,  separating  it  com- 
pletely from  the  concrete  interests  of  human  life. 
For  practical  religion  and  morality  the  highest  value 
must  be  attached  to  instances  of  noble  human  action, 
which  illustrate  the  a|)i)lication  of  the  moral  law.     In 

•  />(•  Niittirn  Dtoriim,  11.^6.     Cuiiip.iii;  .■^cucc.i"-)  "  iJuiuis   vir   i^iiic   Deo 
nemo  est  '  (Kpist.  !\"..  i .'.  ?.). 
-  liss.iy  on  'riii'ibDi.  I'.iit  \' 


362 


A\   I.\"l'R()I)lU"ri()\  'l"n  i/i'irics. 


the  writings  of  the  ancient  Stoics,  not  only  arc  the 
abstract  precei)ts  of  tlic  Stoical  code  embodied  in 
numerous  examples  of  moral  heroism,  but  to  supple- 
ment the  fra^i^mentary  nature  of  such  illustrations,  it 
was  common  to  embody  the  complete  recpiirements  of 
practical  wisdom  by  sketching  an  ideal  wise  man. 
This  may  help  us,  partially  at  least,  to  understand 
the  vast  influence  which  Christianity  ha.s  wielded 
over  the  moral  destinies  of  man,  by  holding  up  as 
the  ideal  of  faith  and  practice  a  Person  who  is  con- 
ceived to  be  the  incarnation  of  God, — the  perfect 
embodiment  of  the  Divine  will  in  human  life.  It  is 
not  for  us  to  discuss  the  historical  reality  of  this  con- 
ception. It  is  sufficient  here  to  recognize  the  fact, 
that  a  Person  so  conceived  lias  been  regariled  in 
Christendom  as  the  proper  object  of  worship  for  all 
mankind  ;  and  even  those  who  are  sceptical  as  to  the 
historical  foundation  of  the  Christian  faith,  can  yet 
recognize  the  reality  and  the  value  of  its  influence 
upon  the  moral  life  of  the  woild.  "  The  most  valuable 
part  of  the  effect  on  the  character,  which  Christianity 
has  produced  by  holdini.;  up  in  a  Divine  Person  a 
standard  of  excellence  and  a  modi-l  for  imitation,  is 
available,  even  to  the  absolute  unbeliever,  and  can 
never  be  lost  to  humanity.  .  .  .  Religion  cannot  be  said 
to  have  made  a  bad  choice  in  pitching  on  this  man, 
as  the  ideal  representative  and  guide  of  humanity  ;  nor, 
even  now,  would  it  be  easy,  even  for  an  unbeliever, 
to  find  a  better  translation  of  tlie  rule  of  virtue  from 
the  abstract  into  the  concrete,  than  to  endeavor  so  to 
live  that  Christ  would  approve  our  life."  ^ 

1  .Mi;i.  //■/./. 


viKTUK  AS  A\  IN  i'i:i.i,i:c riwi.  iiAiur. 


ly  arc  the 
ibotliccl   in 

to  supplc- 
trations,  it 
rcmcnts  of 

wise  man. 
understand 
ah  wielded 
ling  up  as 
^ho  is  con- 
the  perfect 

life.  It  is 
of  this  con- 
:e  the  fact, 
eij;arded  in 
ship  for  all 
al  as  to  the 
th,  can  yet 

s  influence 
ost  valuable 

'hristianity 
,e  Person  a 

niitation,  is 
LM-,  and  can 
not  be  said 

1  this  man, 

lanity ;  nor, 
unbeliever, 

virtue  from 

leavor  so  to 


II 


§  2.    Spicidl  F.ihicatioii  of  Conscience. 

All  the  methotls  of  eckicatinL:' conscience  must  have 
for  their  object  to  cultivate  the  habit  of  interpreting; 
actions  in  the  liL;ht  of  the  universal  standard.  It  is 
obviously  imjiossilile  to  enumerate  all  the  means  which 
may  be  usefully  employed  for  this  object  ;  for  all  the 
daily  routine  of  a  man's  life  —  his  social  attachments 
and  the  habits  of  his  solitude  —  maybe  regulated  so 
as  to  i)romote  the  supreme  ^wA  of  his  existence.  It  is 
the  function  of  the  })ractical  moralist  and  the  practi- 
cal teacher  of  religion  to  suggest  rules  that  are  likely 
to  be  generally  useful.  But  every  intelligent  man  is 
apt  to  form  particular  rules  for  his  own  guidance  ;  and 
though  he  may  never  dream  of  imposing  them  upon 
others,  it  is  in  general  desirable  that  he  should  enforce 
their  obligation  upon  himself,  as  long  as  they  fulhl 
their  puri)Ose. 

We  have  seen,  however,  that  the  consciousness  of 
duty  in  its  infinite  obligation  is  remlered  clearer  and 
stronger  by  being  viewed  as  the  law  of  an  Infinite 
Mind  ;  and,'  consequently,  one  chief  method  of  edu- 
cating conscience  is  to  live  as  if  ever  in  the  presence 
of  this  Omniscient  Judge.  Accordingly,  this  general 
method  entails  all  the  specific  acts  which  serve  as 
means  of  carrying  it  into  effect.  These  are  the  acts 
which  go  by  the  name  of  i^'orsJiip,  The  essential 
nature  of  these  acts  is  indicated  by  the  literal  mean- 
ing of  the  term.  Worship  is  icorthsliip.  Like  a  word 
of  kindred  import,  Junior,  it  may  be  employed  either 
as  a  noun  or  as  a  verb  ;  and  in  this  latter  use  it 
denotes   any   action   which    recognizes    the  "  worth- 


M 


3^>4 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO   ETHICS. 


\\\ 


h 


ship  "  of  its  object.  In  this  j^cncral  sense  a  man  may 
be  .said  to  worship  fame,  pleasure,  money,  etc.,  when 
his  life  shows  that  he  att;iches  supreme  worth  lo 
these  objects.  In  like  manner,  a  man  worships  God 
when  he  seeks  communion  witli  the  perfect  wisdom 
and  goodness  of  the  Supreme  Intelli<;ence,  and  thus 
recognizes  such  communion  as  the  object  of  highest 
worth  in  life. 

Such  worship  may  assume  either  a  more  general  or 
a  more  special  form.  In  the  first,  it  embraces  the 
general  tenor  of  the  wf)rshipper's  life.  When  a  man 
lives  so  as  to  show  that  his  conduct  is  inspired  by 
Divine  aims,  —  that  the  spirit  which  directs  his  life 
is  in  communion  with  the  Infinite  Spirit,  —  then  his 
whole  life  may  be  truly  described  as  a  continuous 
worship  of  God.  In  relation  to  this,  the  more  specific 
acts  of  worship  may  be  viewed,  either  as  effects  or  as 
causes,  —  either,  on  the  one  hand,  as  expressions  of 
a  life-worship,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  as  means  towards 
its  cultivation. 

For  religion  as  well  as  for  morality,  it  is  of  infinite 
importance  to  preserve  an  indissoluble  connection  be- 
tween the  formal  acts  which  are  specially  designated 
by  the  name  of  worship,  and  that  general  activity 
which  gives  the  character  of  true  worship  to  the 
whole  life.  The  deterioration  of  all  religions  has,  in 
fact,  arisen  from  the  dissociation  of  the  two.  This 
is  offensively  obtruded  in  most  of  the  polytheistic 
religions,  in  which  the  moral  element  is  either  entirely 
lost,  or  supplanted  by  rites  that  are  often  essentially 
demoralizing.  The  same  degeneration  of  religion  is 
illustrated  in  the  history  of  Judaism,  as  shown  espe- 


s. 

a  man  may 
,  etc.,  when 
0  worth  to 
)rships  God 
feet  wisdom 
e,  and  thus 

of  highest 

L*  c^cncral  or 
n braces  the 
V'lien  a  man 
inspired  l)y 
jcts  his  hfe 
—  tlien  his 

continuous 
lore  specific 

ffects  or  as 
■f^rcssions  of 

nis  towards 

s  of  infinite 
nection  bc- 
dcsignatcd 
ral  activity 
liip  to  the 
ons  has,  in 
two.  This 
polytheistic 
her  entirely 
essentially 
religion  is 
hown  cspe- 


viinrK  AS  AN  IN  ri:i  i,i:c  1 1  Ai,  iiAr.ii' 


3r>5 


cially  in  the  reiterated  j)r<)tests  of  its  prophets, — the 
prophets  becoming  thus   truly  prophetic  of   Christi- 
anity, whose    essential  spirit   demands  that   religion 
and  morality  should  jiermeate  each  other.     Still,  not- 
withstanding the  essential  rct|uirements  of  the  Chris 
tian  spirit,  it  is  appalling  to  observe   the   freipuncs 
with  \."   ch,  .ill  over  Christendom,  a  certain  scrupulous 
religio.sity  may  be  found  in  union  with   unscrupulous 
immorality.     And,  therefore,  it  becomes  an  indispens- 
able discipline  in  moral  culture,  while  grasping  firmly 
the  universal  ideals  of  religion,  to  connect  them  indis- 
solubly  with  the  particular  recjuirements  of  every-day 
morality.     That  is  a  noble   parable,  which  has  come 
down  to  us  from  Oriental  anticpiity,  —  the  story  of 
Abou   ben   Adhem,  who,  finding   his   name  omitted 
from  the  roll  of  those  who  love  God,  requested  the 
Recordimr  Angel  to  enter  him  as  one  who  loved  his 
fellow-men,  and,  on  the  Angel  returning  from  the  Seat 
of  Judgment,  was  rewarded   by  seeing  his   name  at 
the  head  of  the  roll. 


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AN    INTKODUCTKjX    TO    KTHICS. 


CIIArTER   II. 


1 


i^ 


'■1 


'if.  < 


• 


Jflfef!  i.  . 


t' 

i 

' 

.  f    ■ 

1 

H: 

VIRTUE    AS    AN    ILMOTIOXAI.    HABIT. 

TiiK  moral  consciousness,  as  \vc  have  seen,  is  not 
a  purely  intellectual  activity  ;  it  contains  an  element 
of  emotion.  Virtue,  therefore,  as  the  perfect  devel- 
o]5ment  of  the  moral  consciousness,  must  in  one  of 
its  asjiects  be  a  habit  of  emotional  life.  In  this 
aspect,  however,  it  may  be  both  negative  and  posi- 
tive ;  for  it  recjuires  the  repression  of  emotional 
excitements  that  are  danf^erous  to  moral  welfare, 
as  well  as  the  cultivation  of  feelinL,^s  that  are  naturally 
purifying  and  of  enthusiasms  that  are  ennobling. 

§  I.    N'ci^dtivc  Rjiiotlonal  Culture. 

The  natural  impulses  which  are  most  inimical  to 
the  moral  welfare  of  man  may,  with  an  accuracy  suf- 
ficient for  our  :;(  rposes,  be  considered  under  two 
heads  as  the  scusuous  and  the  unsocial.  The  former 
are  mainly,  but  not  exclusively,  an  im})ediment  to  the 
personal  virtues ;  the  latter,  to  the  social.  A  division 
of  this  general  purport  dates  back  as  far  at  least  as 
the  time  of  Plato,  with  whom  it  formed  a  basis  for 
part  of  his  classification  of  the  virtues.^  The  dis- 
tinction was  expressed  by  the  terms  t.uOrnin  and  Ovuu^. 

1  I\\-/-!i !•!:,.  liouk  IV.     Sec  .ibuvo,  p.  348. 


VIKTUK    AS    A\    I-.MorioNAI,    IIAl'.IT. 


567 


r. 

ecn,  is  not 
m  clement 
feci  (level- 
in  one  of 
In  this 
and  posi- 
emotion.'il 
il    welfare, 
e  naturally 
jbling. 


nimical  to 
:inacy  suf- 
under  two 
"he  former 
lent  to  the 
A  division 
it  least  as 
I  basis  for 
The  dis- 
<  and  di'ito^. 


It  influences  also  the  treatment  of  the  virtues  by 
Aristotle,^  and  runs  through  most  of  the  ethical  liter- 
ature of  the  ancient  world.  I2ven  modern  moralists 
have  not  been  unwilling  to  make  use  of  it  in  their  de- 
scriptions of  human  nature.  Vov  example,  Ilutche- 
son,  referring  to  the  two  terms  just  mentioned,  in 
which  it  was  expressed  by  the  Greeks,  indicates  with 
a  rough  force  their  res})ective  significations: —  "  prior 
voluptatis  si)ectat  adeptionem,  posterior  doloris  depul- 
sionem."  ^  The  one  leads  the  individual  to  seek  the 
gratifications  t-onnected  with  his  bodily  sensibility  ; 
the  other  comprehends  those  irascible  impulses  which 
repel  injury. 

We  need  not  discuss  this  distinction,  either  in 
its  history,  or  in  its  psychological  basis,  or  in  all  its 
ethical  ap[)rtcati()ns.  It  is  here  taken  simi)ly  as  a 
fair  indication  of  those  emotional  excit;  nKMits  which 
it  is  specially  important  to  control  in  the  interests 
of  the  moral  life. 

(/])  77/i-  Coitfol  of  Sensuous  Impulses.  —  It  is  un- 
fortunate that  this  form  of  self-contn^l,  though  it  is 
such  a  prominent  factor  of  moral  character,  finds  no 
adequate  expression  in  English,  such  as  is  given  in 
the  Greek  ao)(f()n(iufij,  at  least  from  the  time  of  Plato. 
The  term  moderation  is  too  extensive  ;  and  temper- 
ance, though  in  etymologica-  meaning  equally  vague, 
has  in  I'Jiglish  usage  fallen  into  the  opposite  defect 
by  being  generally  limited  to  the  control  of  the  two 
most  common  appetites  of  hunger  and  thirst.  Conti- 
nence is  open  to  a  similar  objection,  as  it  is  ordinarily 

1  See,  d-.. Cm  ^-f^i-  A7c-.,  VII.  6. 

2  Philos.'/'hiir  Moralis  fnstitntio  C\'i)//cii</i<ir!ii.  I.  i,  6, 


m 


68 


A 


INTKODrc'l  I<i.\   T*  I    K'l'IIKS. 


t   if;. 


") 


'ir  ''• 


Hi 


II 


U 


restricted  to  the  control  of  sexual  appetite.  Still,  if 
we  must  speak  of  the  virtue  in  (piestion  under  one 
word,  there  does  not  seem  any  recourse  but  to  the 
old  term  tcuipcraiicc,  leaving  it  to  be  understood  that 
it  denotes  a  rational  control  over  all  the  indulgences 
of  bodily  sense. 

All  the  pleasures  of  sense  may  of  course  act  as 
impulses  to  the  will  ;  but  all  are  not  equally  perilous 
to  the  moral  life.  In  fact,  some  might  by  the  moral- 
ist be  treated  as  worthy  rather  of  stimulation  than  of 
rei)ression,  though  these  will  be  found  worthy  of  this 
more  liberal  treatment,  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of 
the  organic  gratification  which  they  yield,  as  rather 
on  account  of  the  readiness  with  which  they  call  into 
})lay  the  activities  of  the  mind.  This  distinction  may 
be  taken  as  indicating  what  are  the  precise  forms  of 
sensuous  gratification  in  the  indulgence  of  which 
temperance  is  specially  demanded.  There  are  some 
sensations  which  are  not  readily  brought  into  associa- 
tion or  comparison  with  one  another,  and  which 
therefore  absorb  our  consciousness  in  the  mere  ex- 
citement of  the  sensitive  organ.  Such  are  nearly  all 
forms  of  general  sensibility,  and,  among  the  special 
sensations,  those  of  taste  and  smell,  particularly  the 
former.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  sensations,  like 
those  of  sight  and  hearing,  which  at  once  lead  our 
consciousness  away  to  the  intellectual  combinations 
which  they  readily  form  and  therefore  readily  recall.* 
These  are  the  sensations  which  are  peculiarly  char- 
acteristic of  man  as  a  rational  being ;  the  others  are 
associated  with  his  life  as  an  animal.     It  is  evidently 

1  See  my  Handbook  of  Psycholoi^y,  j).  1 1 7. 


viinri;  as  an  I'Moiioxai.  iiaiht 


3^'9 


2.  Still,  if 
under  one 
but  to  the 
rstood  that 
[idulgences 

irsc  act  as 
lly  perilous 
the  moral- 
ion  than  of 
thy  of  this 
:he  sake  of 
I,  as  rather 
:3y  call  into 
net  ion  may 
se  forms  of 
of   which 
i  are  some 
ito  associa- 
md    which 
)  mere  ex- 
nearly  all 
le  special 
ularly  the 
itions,  like 
lead  our 
abinations 
ily  recall.^ 
arly  char- 
others  are 
evidently 


the  rational  control  of  the  hitter  that  is  commonly 
thought  of  as  forming  the  x'irtuc  of  tcn^ipcrancc.^ 

Nor  is  it  difficult  to  understand  whv  this  form  of 
self-control  should  be  considered  such  an  indispens- 
able factor  of  virtuous  character.  All  virtue — all 
moral  culture  —  aims  at  elevating  man  above  a  merely 
animal  existence  ;  and  consciiucntly  any  tendency  to 
subject  man  to  domination  by  the  cravings  of  his 
animal  nature  must  be  directly  hostile  to  all  morality. 
It  is  hostile  to  the  i)ersonal  virtues,  for  these  imply 
that  the  life  is  governed  by  rational  ]~)rincip]es,  not  by 
impulses  that  are  nijrcly  natural  or  non-rational;  and 
certainly  of  all  natural  impulses  those  are  farthest 
removed  from  any  rational  origin,  which  have  their 
source  in  the  wants  of  animal  life.  lUit  the  tendency 
in  (piestion  is  equally  inc(jmi)atible  with  the  social 
virtues,  h'or  bodily  pleasures,  as  such,  that  is,  pleas- 
ures which  are  wholly  derived  from  the  agreeable 
excitement  of  a  bodily  organ,  are  necessarily  the 
pleasures  merely  of  the  individual  whose  organ  is 
excited:  in  other  wo.  "  i,  they  are  essentially  selfish. 
Accordingly  intemperate  indulgence  in  such  pleas- 
ures, while  directly  destructive  of  personal  virtue,  is 
indirectly  unfavorable  to  the  social  virtues  as  well. 
But  for  the  culture  of  these  it  is  more  important  to 
acquire 

(B)  Control  of  Lnsocial  Inipitlscs.  —  These  are  the 
various  forms  of  that  irascible  disposition,  which  even 
in  moderate  explosions  tends  to  dissociate  men,  while 
its  more  excessive  outbursts  inevitably  produce  a  rup- 
ture of  social  bonds,  and  spread  desolation  over  human 

1  Comiiarc  Aristutk's  Eih.  Xuom.,  III.  lo. 


370 


AN    I.N  TkoUUCTloX  TO    KTIIICS. 


'1 


ul 


n 


■\ 


I  •" 


F 

■ 

u 

k 

J  <  1 

|!  ■ 

M  <-  i! 

k 

i 

^^l^^^h^ 

life.  Now,  ill  connection  with  the  duties  of  benevo- 
lence it  w;i.s  shown  that  even  the  most  amiable  affec- 
tions reciLiire  to  be  controlled  by  rational  j^rinciple. 
It  is  obvivjus,  therefore,  that  such  control  is  mucli 
more  imperatively  demanded  in  the  case  of  that  nat- 
ural imi)ulse  to  which  all  forms  of  hatred  are  due.  It 
is  not  of  c(Hirse  to  be  denied  that  the  natural  im- 
pulse of  resentment,  when  restrained  within  rational 
limits,  serves  an  useful  })urpose  in  society.  As  an 
emotional  reaction  a<;ainst  injury,  it  forms  a  powerful 
check  upon  the  wrong-doing  by  which  it  is  naturally 
e.xcited  ;  and  it  is  not  desirable  to  weaken  this  check 
by  cultivating  a  morbid  softness  of  temperament, 
which  cannot  be  roused  into  healthy  indignation  at 


wrong. 


But  with  this  admission  it  is  impossible  to  ignore 
the  frightful  excesses  to  which  an  irascible  disposi- 
tion is  liable,  and  the  appalling  havoc  which  they 
make  in  social  life.  These  excesses  are  met  with  in 
both  of  the  forms  in  which  resentment  is  commonly 
manifested.  It  has  long  been  observed  that  some- 
times  resentment  is  a  purely  instinctive  feeling, 
suddenly  excited  by  any  hurt  that  may  be  wholly 
accidental,  while  at  other  times  it  is  a  deliberate 
sentiment  evoked  by  the  consciousness  of  intentional 
injury.^ 

The  instinctive  feeling  is  apt,  under  excessive  in- 
dulgence, to  assume  two  distinct  types.  It  may 
appear  as  that  "quickness  of  temper"  which  is  rap- 
idly excited,  sometimes  to  extreme  violence,  by  any 
cause,  however  trivial,  but  quite  as  rapidly  dies  away, 

1  Sec  my  Handbook  of  Psychology ^  pp,  37S,  3S4. 


of  bcncvo- 
liablc  affcc- 
1  principle, 
jl   is    much 
)f  that  nat- 
ire  due.     It 
natural  im- 
liin  rational 
:ty.     As  an 
5  a  powerful 
is  naturally 
1  this  check 
mperament, 
:lignation  at 

lie  to  ignore 
iblc  disposi- 
which  they 
met  with  in 
commonly 
that  some- 
ive  feeling, 
/■  be  wholly 
deliberate 
intentional 

xcessive  in- 
It  may 
hich  is  rap- 
nce,  by  any 
^  dies  away. 


viK'rrK  AS  .\\  i:.M(>ii(>\.\i,  ii.\i;ii" 


.V 


Or  it  may  become  a  chronic  frctfulncss  of  disposi- 
tion, which  is  easily  irritated  by  every  |)etty  annoy- 
ance, and  often  renders  its  subject  an  intolerable 
nuisance  in  society.  On  the  other  hand,  resentment 
can  be  deliberately  cherished  only  when  the  mind  is 
conscious  of  an  injury  as  intentional.  Hut  this  con- 
sciousness does  not  im[)ly  that  theri.'  has  been  any 
real  injury;  it  may  be  founded  on  a  pure  haluicina- 
tion,  and  frequent  or  excessive  indulgence  of  resent- 
ment is  apt  to  create  a  tendency  to  imagine  injury 
when  there  was  obviously  none  in  reality.  It  is  this 
tendency  that  produces  the  passions  of  envy  and  jeal- 
ousy, as  well  as  that  general  uncharitableness  of  dis- 
position which  perverts  the  judgment  to  put  the  worst 
construction  that  ca..  be  invented  upon  the  actions 
of  others.  Sometimes  deliberate  resentment  is  pro- 
voked by  a  real  injury,  but  its  justice  is  neutralized 
by  its  excess.  The  intensity  of  indignation  mani- 
fested is  often  wholly  out  of  pro]:)ortion  to  the  offence 
that  is  resented  ;  often  a  malicious  crrudge  continues 
to  be  cherished  after  a  full  apology  and  full  reparation 
have  been  offered. 

The  disastrous  effect  of  these  abuses  on  social 
morality  renders  rational  control  of  the  irascible  tem- 
perament a  peculiarly  essential  feature  of  the  virtuous 
character. 

The  question  has  been  raised,  whether  this  form  of 
self-restraint  is  a  more  essential  element  of  virtue  than 
the  other.  Aristotle  held  that  intemperance,  that  is, 
want  of  control  over  imdvi-du,  is  a  more  disgraceful  vice 
than  an  ungovernable  temper,  that  is,  want  of  control 
over  Oi'fwg.^     His  reasoning,  though  antique  in  form, 

1  £t/i.  Nicom.,  VI I.  6. 


m 


372 


AN    IN  lI<()I)rC|-I().\     1(1    l.rilKS. 


'^ 


is  not  without  a  certain  pcrmanciU  interest  from 
j^raspinj;  some  of  the  fundamental  principles  on  which 
such  a  cjuestion  must  be  discussed.  It  may  also  be 
admitted  that,  whatever  maybe  the  speculative  theory 
on  the  comparative  immorality  of  the  two  forms  of 
licentiousness,  the  practical  attitude  of  modern  society 
in  relation  to  the  two  corresponds  with  the  decision 
of  tise  ancient  moralist.  Still,  it  may  fairly  be  cpus- 
tioned  whether  this  attitude  is  wholly  defensible,  — 
whether  it  does  not  rather  represent  a  tendency,  not, 
indeed,  to  overestimate  the  virtues  of  temperance, 
but  to  belittle  the  comparative  demerit  of  offences 
a<,Minst  the  virtues  of  good  temper.  It  is  easy  to 
understand  how,  with  the  military  ideal  of  virtue  which 
prevailed  in  the  Pagan  world,  the  judgment  of  Aristotl*^ 
should  have  been  readily  accepted.  But  in  the  Chris- 
tian ideal  there  is  a  prominence  given  to  the  virtues 
of  "  love,  joy,  peace,  long-suffering,  gentleness,  good- 
ness, meekness,"  ^  which  it  is  not  easy  to  reconcile 
with  the  rank  hitherto  assigned  to  them  in  the  prac- 
tice even  of  Christendom. 

§  2,    Positive  llviotional  Culture. 

As  there  are  some  excitements  to  be  wholly  re- 
pressed, or  held  under  rigorous  check,  as  dangerous 
to  moral  welfare,  so  there  are  others  whose  influence 
is  on  the  whole  favorable  to  virtue,  and  deserves, 
therefore,  to  be  cherished  and  strengthened.  The 
tendency  of  these  emotions  is  generally  to  promote 
social  or  personal  morality,  and  they  are  seldom  liable 
to  dangerous  excess  ;  in  fact,  the  faulty  extreme,  to 
which  they  are  liable,   is  vcy  often  rather  that  of 

1  Gal.  V.  II/--23. 


VIRTUE    AS    AN'    I.MOTIONAI.    IIAliri'. 


rest    from 
5  on  which 
ay  also  be 
:ivc  theory 
)  fornis  of 
ern  society 
le  decision 
y  be  qu:s- 
icnsible,  — 
dency,  not, 
cmperance, 
of  offences 

is  easy  to 
irtue  which 
of  Aristotl'^ 
n  the  Chris- 
Ithe  virtues 
ess,  good- 

o  reconcile 
in  the  prac- 


wholly  re- 
dan irerous 
;e  influence 
d   deserves, 
ened.     The 
to  promote 
Lddom  liable 
extreme,  to 
her  that  of 


defect.     The  ?iaturc  (»f  llicsc  valuable  cniolions  will 
readily  occur  to  the  reflective  mind. 

In  the  first  pku  '.  there  [u-e  many  emoti(/ns  which 
nicvy  be  cultivated  with  advantage  as  directly  counter- 
active of  the  sensuous  and  the  unsocial  impulses 
whose  injurious  effects  have  just  been  described. 
]"or  instance,  the  cravings  of  a  morbid  jihysical  sen- 
sibility may,  in  man\'  cases,  be  overcome  by  healthy 
physical  enjoyments  far  more  effectively  than  l)y 
efforts  of  direct  repression.  The  gratifications  of 
natural  ai)[)etite,  by  abuiviance  of  wholesome  food, 
by  comtortable  clothing  and  housing,  by  fresh  air 
and  invigorating  e.xercisc,  followed  by  adequate  mus- 
cular and  nervous  rcjjose,  will  often  go  a  long  way 
to  cure  the  feverish  irritations  of  unhealthy  arti- 
ficial appetites.  Then,  again,  the  unsocial  passions, 
except  in  the  very  moderate  forms  which  reason  jus- 
tifies, are  essentially  morbid  excitements,  and  are  to 
be  treated  by  giving  a  more  healthy  gratification  to 
the  emotional  nature  in  the  purifying  enjoyments 
of  social  life,  whether  these  are  found  in  the  s[)here 
of  private  friendship  or  in  that  of  a  wider  philan- 
thropy. 

These  kindly  sentiments  are  not  merely  of  negative 
value  as  countcactingmalevt^lent  jiassions  ,  they  have 
also  a  positive  worth  as  fostering  the  social  virtues, 
while  they  cultivate  a  relish  for  gratifications  superior 
to  those  of  bodily  sense,  anci  thus  provide  a  richer 
soil  for  the  spiritual  \'irtues  of  i)ei\sonal  morality. 
There  are  many  t)ther  emotions  which  have  the  same 
independent  value  for  Lhe  moral  life.  Their  influence 
is  in  some  eases  direct,  in  others  only  indirect. 


374 


AX    IN'TKODL'CIION    TO    KTIIICS. 


<■ 


u 


It 


In  indirect  inllucncc  a  cliicf  i)lacc  must  be  assigned 
to  the  intellectual  feeliii<;s, — the  love  of  beauty  and 
truth.  The  nature  of  the  influence  which  these 
exert  upon  moral  culture,  it  is  not  difficult  to  estimate, 
thou.L;h  there  has  been  a  tendency  in  different  minds 
to  the  oi)positc  extremes  of  over-estimation,  or  of 
unfair  depreciation.  It  has  been  the  mistake  ol 
Puritanism,  and  indeed  of  the  ascetic  tendency  in  all 
its  forms,  to  belittle  the  value  of  intellectual  culture. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  is  an  opposite  tendency, 
rei)resented  in  an  extreme  form  by  the  fashion  of 
yEstheticism,  to  exalt  the  intellectual,  and  especially 
the  a:sthetic,  emotions  into  an  illef.dtimate  rank  as 
forming  a  sufficient  guide  in  life  without  any  dis- 
tinctively moral  culture.  It  is  true,  that  scientific 
and  artistic  culture  exercise  an  influence  in  the.direc- 
tion  of  general  refinement ;  but,  unfortunately,  con- 
spicuous examples  have  shown  that  such  culture  does 
not  of  necessity  imply  a  rigid  regard  for  duty,  and 
that  its  refinement  may  at  times  be  associated  with 
painful  moral  grossness. 

We  cannot,  therefore,  ascribe  to  purely  intellectual 
emotions  any  value  for  morality  beyond  their  indirect 
influence  in  promoting  general  refinement.  For  the 
direct  culture  of  a  virtuous  emotional  habit  it  is  ne- 
cessary to  call  into  play  those  emotions  that  are 
distinctively  moral,  as  well  as  those  emotions  of  the 
religious  life  in  which  morality  attains  its  highest 
efHoresccnce.  In  order  to  the  culture  of  these  there 
are  three  facts  which  it  is  important  to  keep  in  mind. 

I.  The  most  spiritual  sentiments,  equally  with  the 
lowest  sensations  of  animal  life,  arc  excited  by  their 


VIRTII.    AS    A\    i;Mf)I'I()\AI.    llAhl'l". 


375 


be  assigned 
locality  and 
'hich  these 
to  estimate, 
rent  minds 
ition,  or  of 
mistake  ol 
dency  in  all 
iial  culture. 
:  tendency, 
fashion  of 
1  especially 
ate  rank  as 
ut  any  dis- 
at  scientific 
n  the.direc- 
nately,  con- 
:ulture  does 
r  duty,  and 
)ciated  with 

intellectual 
eir  indirect 
For  the 
it  it  is  nc- 
s  that  are 
ions  of  the 
ts  highest 
these  there 
cp  in  mind. 
ly  with  the 
jd  by  their 


natural  causes,  not  by  a  voluntary  resolution  to  feel 
them. 

"  \Vc  cannot  kindle  wIrii  wt  will 
The  fire  which  in  tlie  heart  resides." ' 

It  is,  therefore,  a  futile  artifice  to  ilictiite  to  our- 
selves or  to  others  what  particular  emotions  ought  lo 
be  felt.  Common  sense  usually  resents  such  dic- 
tation. If  an  emotion  ought  to  be  felt,  it  can  be 
excited  by  an  adecpiate  stimulant  ;  and,  therefore,  the 
only  rational  method  of  procedure  is  to  bring  the 
natural  stimulant  of  the  recpn'red  emotion  within 
the  range  of  our  conscious  life,  and  allow  it  to  oper- 
ate. Accordingly,  the  mind  must  be  allowetl  fre- 
cpiently  to  dwell  on  illustrious  examples  of  personal 
purity  and  heroic  unselfishness  ;  and  it  is  not  unde- 
sirable to  present  at  times  deeds  of  wrong-doing  in 
their  undisguised  hideousness  in  order  to  give  play  to 
the  healthy  sentiment  of  honest  indignation. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  effect  of  these  emotional 
stimulants  must  depend  largely  on  the  art  with  which 
they  are  presented  ;  and  here  a  wide  scope  is  given  to 
artistic  skill  in  promoting  the  ends  of  the  moral  life. 
It  is  true,  that  the  immediate  aim  of  Art  is  different 
from  that  of  morality;  but  morality  embraces  within 
its  range  the  whole  activity  of  man,  and  cannot  release 
from  its  obligations  the  labors  of  the  artist.  This 
does  not  imply  that  Art  must  be  degraded  to  any 
inartistic  function,  — 

"  To  point  a  moral  or  adorn  a  talc,"  — 

by  picturing  all  the  sweets  of  life  as  flowing  into 
the  lap  of  good  pcoj^le,  and  all  disasters  as  accumulat- 

1  Fmni  M.  AruuKl'^  1;.  lic,  M  ycility. 


37^> 


AN    INTRODUCTION   K )    I.TIIK'S. 


t 

M. 


i*:  I  • 


iiiL,^  upon  tlic  JK'ads  f)f  tho  wicked.  lUit  if  Art  is  true 
to  fact,  while  glorifyini,^  the  discipline  which  virtue 
receives  from  suffering;,  it  must  at  least  distribute  to 
moral  action  the  unfailini;"  retribution  that  attends 
it  in  the  Divine  government  of  the  world. 

A  noble  ideal  is  thus  opened  to  Art  in  a  mission 
which,  while  not  interfering  with  its  lej^itimate  func- 
tion, y^'t  enables  it  to  co-operate  with  other  activities 
in  promotiuL,^  the  Supreme  Knd  of  human  existence. 
This  is  the  mission  which  Plato  seems  to  have  antici- 
pated for  Art  in  an  ideal  state  of  society,  and  which 
has  been  an  aspiration  among  the  more  earnest  artists 
and  art-critics  of  all  times.  This  mission  may  be  car- 
ried out,  not  only  in  the  productions  of  what  are 
technically  styled  the  Fine  Arts;  but  a  certain  moral 
refinement  may  also  be  given  to  that  taste  which 
clothes  with  its  own  attractive  forms  the  whole  mate- 
rial environment  amid  which  the  moral  life  is  si)ent, 
—  the  ceremony  of  social  usage,  the  pomp  of  judicial 
and  political  procedure,  antl  the  ritual  of  religious 
worship. 

We  arc  thus  also  reminded  of  the  fact,  that,  as 
man's  life  in  general,  so  his  moral  life  in  particular, 
is  always  normally  social  ;  and  therefore  all  emotional 
stimulants  are  powerfully  enhanced  by  social  influ- 
ences. There  is  a  spiritual  as  well  as  a  material  con- 
tagion in  society.  The  corruption  of  good  manners, 
resulting  from  evil  associations,  may  always  be  coun- 
teracted, and  moral  elevation  may  be  sustained,  by 
companionship  with  the  good. 

II.  But  the  depcntlence  of  emotions  on  their  ob- 
jective causes  is  (pialified  by  the  fact,  which  has  been 


VIKIl'K    AS    A\    i;M(iI'I()XAI,    IIAIUT 


377 


Art  is  true 
liich  virtue 
istributc  to 
lat  attends 

1  a  mission 
imate  func- 
jr  activities 
1  existence, 
have  antici- 
,  and  which 
•nest  artists 
may  be  car- 
f  what  are 
:rtain  moral 
;aste  which 
vhole  male- 
fe  is  spent, 
of  judicial 
)f   religious 

t,  that,  as 
particular, 
emotional 
ocial  influ- 
iterial  con- 
manners, 
s  be  coun- 
tained,  by 

1  their  ob- 
1  has  been 


referred  to  already,  that  they  are  also  dependent  on 
subjective  conditions,  on  the  varyini;;  moods  of  the 
sensibility.  In  consecpience  of  this  it  is  a  familiar 
fact,  that  the  same  object  may  produce  radically  dif- 
ferent feelings  in  different  persons,  or  even  in  the 
same  i)erson  at  different  times.  Now,  although  the 
moods  of  sensibility  are  often  due  to  physical  agen- 
cies which  we  cannot  command,  yet  they  are  far  from 
being  altogether  beyond  our  control.  In  fact,  every 
kind  of  sensibility,  like  every  organ  of  the  body,  de- 
pends for  its  healthy  vigor  on  its  e.xercise.  It  is 
therefore  completely  within  our  power  to  render  our- 
selves more  or  less  sensitive  to  i)articular  influences. 
Many,  indeed,  of  the  most  irresistible  susceiJtibili- 
ties  of  the  mind  are  habits,  formed  by  culture,  and 
capable  therefore  of  being  modified  by  the  same 
means  ;  while  some  of  the  most  revolting  forms  of 
emotional  callousness  arise  from  a  course  of  conduct 
which  has  interfered  with  the  normal  play  of  some 
natural  feeling. 

The  normal  [)lay  of  a  feeling  results  in  a  nervous 
thrill,  which  affects  some  muscular  region,  and  pro- 
duces a  movement  which  comes  to  be  associated  with 
the  feeling  as  its  natural  expression.  It  is  tliis  play 
of  feeling  in  expressive  movement,  that  constitutes 
its  indulgence ;  and  as  such  movement  is  almost 
always  within  our  power,  our  feelings  themselves  can 
in  general  be  controlled.  As  illustrated  already  in 
the  case  of  benevolence,  any  feeling  may  be  culti- 
vated to  a  more  intense  activity  by  being  allowed 
freely  to  find  vent  in  its  customary  forms  of  expres- 
sion ;  or  it  may  be  starved  out  of  existence  by  being 


37« 


AN   IN'I'IU)I)UCTrn\   TO    K-JIIICS. 


M 


I!' 


i 


persistently  refused  the  indulgence  which  is  its 
necessary  food. 

III.  As  the  emotions  are  tiuis  proved  to  be  largely 
under  the  control  of  the  will,  moral  culture  must  aim 
at  their  habitual  regulation  ;  in  other  words,  virtue 
becomes,  in  one  of  its  aspects,  an  emotional  habit. 
But  this  aspect  must  receive  its  proper  rank  in  rela- 
tion to  others  ;  and  here,  if  anywhere,  it  is  essential 
to  recognize  the  truth  embodied  in  that  theory  of 
Aristotle's  which  makes  virtue  an  intermediate  course 
between  two  faulty  extremes.  For  there  are  two  ex- 
tremes, against  which  it  is  equally  necessary  to  guard, 
in  estimating  the  value  of  emotion  as  a  factor  of  the 
moral  life. 

I,  One  of  these  is  the  extreme  of  Stoical  apathy, 
which  was  described  above.  This  development  of 
the  moral  life  is  defective  on  various  iirounds. 

(a)  It  is  apt  to  become  a  veritably  morbid  callous- 
ness, and  has  in  fact  often  assumed  that  form  in 
eases  of  excessive  culture,  not  only  among  ancient 
Stoics  and  Cynics,  but  among  ascetics  of  all  schools. 
It  is  not  the  aim  of  virtue  to  eradicate  nature,  but  to 
raise  it  into  complete  harmony  with  reason. 

(/;)  Moreover,  this  paralysis  of  sensibility,  thoup^ 
favorable  to  the  negative  virtues  of  self-restraint, 
yet  takes  even  from  these  their  genuine  merit,  while 
it  annihilates  the  most  energetic  motives  of  the  per- 
sonal virtues.  This  is  especially  the  case  with  those 
actions  which  strike  the  noblest  tone  in  the  moral 
life.  For,  without  entering  into  the  theological  dogma, 
noticed  above,  with  regard  to  works  of  supererogation, 
it  is  obvious  that  there  are,  in  private  as  well  as  in 


cs. 

wliich    is    its 

to  be  largely 
lire  must  aim 
words,  virtue 
otional  habit. 
•  rank  in  rela- 
t  is  essential 
lat  theory  of 
icdiate  course 
re  are  two  ex- 
sary  to  guard, 

factor  of  the 

toical  apathy, 
.'elopment  of 
)unds, 

orbid  callous- 
hat  form  in 
iionii"  ancient 
f  all  schools, 
lature,  but  to 
on. 

3ility,  thoup'-i 
self-restraint, 

merit,  while 
s  of  the  per- 
5C  with  those 

n  the  moral 
)gical  dogma, 
)ererogation, 
IS  well  as  in 


VIRTUE    AS    A\    KMOI'IONAI.    liAI'.lT 


379 


social  history,  occasional  crises  which  call  for  virtue 
of  a  more  exalted  strain  thaii  the  ordinaiy  little  deeds 
of  goodness  which  make  uj)  t'  nnitine  of  the  moral 
life;  and  therefore  Aristotle  has,  projierly,  recognized 
an  heroic  virtue  as  distinct  from  the  common  forms  of 
goodness  as  brutal  vice  differs  from  vulgar  types  of 
evil.^  Now,  for  such  extraordinary  virtue  an  extraor- 
dinary enthusiasm  is  required  ;  and  therefore  in  pres- 
ence of  any  sublime  call  to  duty,  an  immovable 
apathy  —  coldness,  lukewarmness,  even  moderation 
—  may  be  an  inexcusable  moral  defect. 

All  these  considerations  are  powerfully  confirmed 
by  the  fact,  that  the  violence  done  to  emotional  life 
by  the  total  suppression  of  natural  sentiments,  tends 
to  defeat  its  own  end,  —  fails  to  develop  the  heroic 
endurance  at  which  it  aims.  For  endurance  is  not  a 
mere  immovable  apathy  in  midst  of  the  stimulat- 
ing personal  and  social  interests  bv  which  human  life 
is  inspired.  It  is  rather  that  strength  by  which  the 
spirit  can  stand  the  blows  of  fortune  without  being 
crushed  by  their  power,  and  rise  from  their  prostrat- 
ing effects  with  unimpaired  moral  energy  for  renewed 
exertion  in  the  duties  of  life.  This  recuperative  force 
is  not  created  by  simply  blunting  all  sensibility  to  the 
pathos  of  life,  but  rather  by  retaining  that  young  elas- 
ticity of  spirit,  which  rebounds  fiT)m  any  emotional 
prostration  into  sentiments  of  reinvigorating  power ; 
and  it  is  therefore  almost  certain  to  be  weakened  or 
destroyed  by  a  general  deadening  of  the  emotionrd 
nature.  A  great  historical  illustration  of  this  is  af- 
fortled  in  the  contrast  between  the  Athenian  and 
the  Spartan  chai'actfi-s.     On  the  occasion  of  a!iy  great 

1     Et/i.    Nu.:llt..    \\\.     I. 


k,\ 


|i  ! 


H 

W 

fl^^S 

By 

':i 

^^B9 

}.   J 

BIS 

i.i 

l^ffi 

tL 

'ffflll 

^r 

,  i. 

So 


A\    INTRODUCTION   TO  ETHICS. 


national  calamity,  while  the  Spartans  maintained  a 
self-restraint  that  is  almost  incredible,  the  Athenians 
were  usually  carried  away  for  the  moment  by  an  un- 
controllable outburst  of  grief ;  and  yet,  as  Grotc  has 
remarked,  when  it  came  to  active  and  heroic  efforts 
for  the  i)urpose  of  repairing  past  calamities  and  mak- 
ing head  against  j^reponderant  odds,  the  Athenians 
were  decidedly  the  better  of  the  two.^ 

2.  There  is,  however,  an  opposite  extreme  which 
overestimates  the  value  of  moral  sentiment  in  the 
virtuous  character.  There  are  two  dangers  to  which 
such  sentiment  is  exposed. 

{a)  Those  who  have  cultivated  a  scnsibilitv  that 
is  readily  and  powerfully  excited  by  the  moral  facts 
of  life,  are  liable  to  emotional  disturbances  which  may 
be  too  violent  to  be  controlled  by  reason,  and  may 
sometimes  find  vent  in  directions  extremely  disastrous 
to  the  moral  well-being. 

{!))  But  there  is  an  effect  which  is  still  more  ener- 
vating to  all  moral  vigor,  and  that  is  the  degeneration 
of  moral  sentiment  into  mere  sentimentalism.  This 
is  an  effect  which  is  peculiarly  apt  to  be  produced  in 
minds  of  sufficient  refinement  to  enjoy  literary  and 
other  artistic  representations  of  life,  which  are  fitted 
to  evoke  emotions  favorable  to  morality.  The  mind  is 
then  apt  to  dally  with  its  own  pleasing  excitements, 
and  to  rest  satisfied  with  these  as  if  they  were  a  mer- 
itorious substitute  for  active  exertion  in  the  cause  of 
virtue. 

For  such  defects  the  only  remedy  is  cidture  of  the 
will. 

1  History  of  Greece^  Vol.  X.  p.  iS;.     (Anicr.  ed.) 


:cs. 

maintained  a 
he  Athenians 
int  by  an  iin- 
as  Grote  has 
heroic  efforts 
;:ies  and  mak- 
ic  Athenians 

:treme  which 
iment  in  the 
[jers  to  which 

nsibilitv  that 
3  moral  facts 
es  which  may 
son,  and  may 
ily  disastrous 

more  ener- 
egeneration 

dism.  This 
prochiced  in 
htcrary  and 

ch  are  fitted 
The  mind  is 

Lwcitements, 
were  a  mer- 

the  cause  of 

Iture  of  the 
d.) 


VIRTUE  AS  A  iiAi;rr  or  will. 


iNi 


CHAPTER    III. 

VIRTUE    AS    A    UAIUT    OF    WILL. 

This  aspect  of  virtue  underhes  both  the  others. 
All  virtue  is  a  habit  of  willing.  Vi)r  morality,  indeed, 
as  disting-uished  from  mere  legality,  the  intellectual 
and  emotional  aspects  are  essential  ;  for  they  deter- 
mine the  motive —  the  spirit  —  by  which  the  moral  life 
is  governed.  But  we  have  seen  that  these  aspects  of 
virtue  depend  for  their  vitality  on  the  influence  which 
they  are  allowed  to  exert  upon  the  conduct  of  life. 
A  persistent  neglect  of  the  admonitions  of  conscience 
tends  to  paralyze  it  so  that  it  loses  its  clearness  and 
readiness  of  decision  ;  and  a  persistent  indulgence  in 
vice  blunts  the  finer  sensibilities  l)y  which  the  moral 
life  is  sustained,  and  gives  an  appalling  force  to  pas- 
sions which  are  utterly  incompatible  with  virtue. 
Even  for  the  culture  of  the  intellectual  and  emotional 
habits  of  virtue,  therefore,  it  is  essential  to  cultivate 
habitual  firmness  of  will  in  directing  the  whole  life. 
All  education  becomes  thus  education  of  will. 

As  a  habit  of  will,  virtue  may  be  either  negative  or 
positive. 

§  I.    N'cgativi'    Virtue. 

In  this  aspect,  virtue  is  a  habit  of  willing  not  to  do 
certain  actions,  and  it  is  forced  by  its  very  nature  to 


'i\ 


1  v-. 


AN    INTKoDrC'I'IdX  'I'O    I/IIIICS. 


■'I 


h'i 


I  •" 


*-|i 


assume  this  form.  Man  advances  to  a  moral  life 
only  as  he  rises  above  the  unrestricted  domination  of 
natural  imi)ulses,  and  learns  to  control  these  by  ra- 
tional volition.  This  control,  however,  implies  not 
merely  the  stimulation  of  natural  impulses  towards 
rational  ends,  but  also  at  times  their  rei)ression.  Vor 
as  they  are  essentially  non-rational,  they  (jften  seek 
indulgence  in  unreasonable  directions,  or  iii  forms  of 
excess  which  trans.gress  the  modei'ation  that  reason 
demands.  Accordingly,  self-restraint  has  always  been 
recognized  as  forming  an  important  factor  of  the 
moral  life.  Its  familiarity  in  human  life  is  j)roved  by 
the  numerous  terms  by  which  it  is  described  in  all 
civilized  languages.  Inck  d,  in  some  moral  and  reli- 
gious systems  of  the  Cynical  or  ascetic  type,  the 
importance  of  self-restraint  has  been  unreasonably 
over-estimated  by  virtue  being  represented  too  exclu- 
sively in  its  negative  aspect. 

But  the  necessity  of  self-restraint  is  enforced  by  a 
perplexing  fact  which  cannot  be  overlooked  in  any 
earnest  study  of  human  nature.  Not  only  have  we 
to  do  with  passions  which  may,  if  unchecked,  prove 
inimical  to  our  moral  welfare  ;  but  whenever  the 
struggles  of  the  moral  life  begin,  we  find  that  these 
jxassions  have  already  acquired  a  certain  mastery  over 
the  rational  will,  and  that  we  have  to  grapple  with  an 
established  tendency  to  irrational  indulgence.  To  all 
appearance,  therefore,  this  tendency  is  not  simply  a 
habit  which  each  individual  forms  for  himself  ;  it 
seems  rather  a  disposition  which  all  bring  into  the 
world  with  them  as  an  inherent  part  of  human  nature. 
The  consciousness  of  this  disposition  has  taken  defi- 


'S. 


VIinTl".    AS    A    I1AI;I  r    nl-     W  11. 


a  moral  life 
omination  of 
these  by  ra- 

implies  not 
Ises  towards 
ession.  J'^or 
y  (jften  seek 
r  ill  forms  of 

tliat  reason 
;  always  been 
letor    of    the 

is  proved  by 
cribed  in  all 
:)ral  and  reli- 
ic  type,  the 
.m  reasonably 
cd  too  cxclii- 

forccd  by  a 
ved  in  any 
ly  have  we 
eked,  prove 
enever  the 
that  these 
nasterv  over 
iple  with  an 
ice.  To  all 
ot  simply  a 
"limself  ;  it 
ii;  into  the 
nan  nature, 
taken  defi- 


nite form  in  the  Christian  doctrine  of  original  sin, 
which  has  exerted  a  deep  and  witle  inlliience  over 
Christian  Theology,  and  given  a  passionate  intensity 
to  the   struLTLfles  of  the   moral   life   in   Cliristendom. 

o  o 

lUit  this  conviction  of  a  sinful  disposition  extending 
back  into  the  very  beginnings  of  life  is  not  confitied 
to  the  Christian  consciousness.  The  jirniUnt  He- 
brew, conscience-stricken  by  the  appalling  force  of 
evil  in  his  life,  felt  as  if  he  must  have  been  born  in 
sin  and  conceived  in  iniquity.^  In  Greek  literature 
also  the  same  thought  is  not  infrecpient.  In  fact,  it 
was  sometimes  connected  with  a  theory,  or  fancy  (as 
some  may  prefer  to  call  it),  which  ascribes  to  man  a 
previous  state  of  existence,  and  traces  the  origin  of 
his  innate  sinful  dis})ositions  to  sinful  acts  voluntarily 
perpetrated  in  that  pre-natal  life.  This  is  not  the 
place  to  discuss  the  various  theological  and  psycho- 
logical questions  connected  with  this  apparently  in- 
stinctive tendency  to  sin.  We  are  interested  in  the 
subject  merely  as  modifying  or  complicating  the  re- 
quirements of  moral  culture.'-^ 

In  view  of  this  perplexing  fact  all  moral  evolution 
becomes  of  necessity  revolution.  It  is  not  merely  a 
culture  of  good  habits  ;  it  's  an  eradication  of  bad. 
As  the  moral  dispositions  are  already  to  some  extent 

1  Ps.  li. 

2  The  student  who  wishes  to  pursue  this  subject  further,  may  of  course 
cnnsuit  any  of  the  great  works  on  Christian  Dogmatics  in  general,  or  any 
monograph  on  the  subject  of  sin  in  particular.  There  is  a  very  elaborate  work 
On  tlic  Chrisfiiin  Doctrine  of  Sin,  by  Julius  ^Uiller.  The  subject  is  also 
treated  at  lengtli,  on  its  jihilosophical  side,  in  the  tiist  part  of  Kant's  A\'//<^W'>n 
innerliall'  der  Grcnzcn  (Icf  I'losscn  I'cinitn/L  This  part  is  devoted  eiitinly 
to  the  Radical  Evil  in  Hionan  Naturr.  It  will  be  fnuiid  at  the  end  of  Al)Oolt's 
translation  of  tlic  Krili/c  of  Pure  I'ra.  'Itul  Reason. 


3 '^4 


AN     I.\l  KODTC  ri(').\    'l(')    I/IIIKS. 


i  t 


>     ■  i 


I' 


formed,  and  formed  \vroi\i;ly,  they  must  l)e  re-formed. 
The  nature  of  this  process  of  reformation  is  deter- 
mined by  the  nature  of  vice  or  sin.  But  vice  is 
merely  the  obverse  phase  of  virtue.  Now,  one  theory, 
which  was  traced  to  the  teaching  of  Socrates,  makes 
virtue  a  form  of  knowledge.  On  this  theory  vice 
must  of  course  be  a  form  of  ignorance,  and  is  there- 
fore to  be  removed  in  the  same  way  as  ignorance  in 
general  is  overcome,  that  is,  by  instruction.  Hut 
even  on  thi  theory  the  process  of  moral  improve- 
ment is  at  times  very  inadequately  conceived.  For 
the  intellectual  activity,  by  which  ignorance  is  con- 
quered and  knowledge  attained,  would  be  v/holly  mis- 
understood if  it  were  represented  as  a  purely  receptive 
process  ;  it  is  always  essentially  a  voluntary  effort. 
If  this  holds  good  with  regard  to  intellectual  education 
in  general,  it  must  be  much  more  evident  in  the  case 
of  that  intellectual  education  which  is  implied  in 
moral  culture.  Ml  such  education  is  necessarily  a 
process  of  volition. 

For,  as  has  been  explained  above,  virtue  is  some- 
thing mor<  than  knowledge.  It  implies  something  to 
be  done,  rather  than  something  to  be  known.  This, 
it  will  be  remembered,  is  the  fact  to  which  Aristotle 
gave  scientific  exactness  in  his  definition  of  virtue  as 
a  habit ;  and  it  explains  to  us  why  the  moral  reason 
fails  to  find  complete  satisfaction  in  any  conception 
of  the  moral  life,  which  would  treat  it  as  a  purely 
intellectual  process.  "  '  The  Eiichiridion  of  Epictctus^  " 
says  the  imaginary  Herr  Teufelsdrockh,  *"I  have  ever 
with  me,  often  as  my  sole  rational  coi^-^panion  ;  and 
regret   to  mention  that   the   nourisliment   it  yielded 


VIKI'l'l';    A.-^    A    IIAI.TI"    ()!•■    WILL. 


1-^5 


c  rc-formcd. 
on  IS  (Ictcr- 
But  vice  is 
,  one  theory, 
rates,  makes 
theory  vice 
nd  is  there- 
irnorance  in 

o 

ction.       lUit 

ral  improve- 

;eivcd.     For 

mce  is  con- 

wliolly  mis- 

L'ly  rece{)tive 

ntary  effort. 

al  education 

in  the  case 

implied    in 

ecessarily  a 

ue  is  some- 
omethin^i;  to 
own.  This, 
ch  Aristotle 
of  virtue  as 
loral  reason 
'  conception 
as  a  purely 
Epictctus^  " 
'  I  have  ever 
lanion  ;  and 
t   it  yielded 


was  t'iflinLC.'  Thou  foolish  Teufelsdnickii  !  I  U)\v 
could  it  else.-*  Iladst  thou  not  Greek  enough  to 
understantl  this  much  :  7V/c  oid  of  Man  is  an  Actio)i, 
and  not  a  Thoui^Jit,  though  it  were  the  noblest  .-* "  ^ 

This  indicates  the  method  in  which  virtue  is  to  be 
accjuired.  It  is  by  acting  rather  than  by  knowing, 
by  practice  rather  than  ])y  theory  ;  that  is  to  say,  it 
is  by  that  exercise  in  the  voluntary  direction  of  our 
conduct,  by  which  alone  the  power  of  the  will  can  be 
educated.  In  the  present  section  we  have  to  con- 
sider how  this  educative  e.xercise  of  the  will  is  to  be 
ai)p!ied  in  cultivating  habits  of  self-restraint. 

I.  In  the  first  place,  as  we  have  just  seen,  the  cul- 
ture of  these  habits  is  C()m})licated  by  the  fact,  that 
we  have  to  deal,  from  the  very  beginning,  with  evil 
dispositions  already  existing,  and  that,  therefore,  all 
training  in  sc'f  restraint  implies  a  repression  of  these 
dispositions.  In  order  to  do  this  it  is  obvious  that  a 
man  must,  first  of  all,  be  perfectly  truthful  to  himself, 
perfectly  frank  in  acknowledging  to  his  own  con- 
sciousness the  faulty  nature  which  stands  in  need  of 
reformation.  In  the  Socratic  method  the  first  step 
towards  improvement  was  to  convince  a  man  of  his 
ignorance  ;  for  without  this  conviction,  it  was  held,  a 
man  must  want  the  initial  impulse  to  seek  knowledge. 
Under  a  deeper  conception  of  virtue  and  vice,  the 
method  of  Socrates,  which  required  a  conviction  of 
ignorance,  is  transformed  into  the  Christian  method, 
requiring  a  conviction  of  sin  as  the  initiatory  stage  of 
a  spiritual  morality. 

II.  But  this  conviction  can  escape  from  the  empti- 

1  Carlyle'b  Sarior  /\\. <,!>;' if.  IJuok  II.  cliap.  vi. 


I 


!<-H 


3<S6 


AN    IXTKOnUC'Ilox   ■'()  IITHICS. 


:  f 


^l"! 


1 

t 

I 

'  it. 

•  ■(i 

tlii..:                                       il 

||i 

f 

m. 

ncss  of  a  mere  a])stract  conception,  or  the  futility 
of  a  sentimental  rei^ret,  only  when  it  is  realized  in 
specific  efforts  of  will  planned  for  discipline  in  self- 
control.  ^\:)r  such  discipline  it  is  not  enough  to  refuse 
our  passions  merely  those  ^jj;ratifications  which  arc 
clearly  wronij^.  Such  self-denial  is  the  very  scantiest 
restraint  which  a  moral  being  has  to  impose  on  him- 
self, and  does  not  imply  any  discipline  adopted  for 
the  specific  purpose  of  moral  training.  You  do  not 
learn  a  science  by  merely  picking  up  such  facts  as 
may  drop  on  the  path  of  common  exi)erlence,  nor  do 
you  learn  an  art  by  the  occasional  clumsy  attempts 
to  practise  it,  which  may  be  forced  u})on  you  by  the 
necessities  of  life.  In  both  cases  it  is  always  assumed 
as  a  matter  of  course,  that  a  si)ecial  education  is  abso- 
lutely indispensable.  And  yet,  in  the  one  art  which 
is  the  common  concern  of  all  men  —  the  art  of  virtu- 
ous living  —  this  rudimentary  principle  of  all  learning 
is  very  generally  ignored  ;  and  the  power  of  self-control 
is  left  to  be  trained  at  random,  by  such  restraints  as 
may  happen  to  be  enforced  by  physical  and  social 
surroundings.  I^ut  this  ignores  altogether  the  indis- 
pensable conditions  of  moral  education.  Without  a 
special  discipline,  exercising  the  will  in  acts  of  self- 
restraint,  it  is  impossible  to  acquire  that  habitual 
power  of  will,  by  which  alone  tlie  passions  can  be 
kept  under  reasonable  control.  For,  in  order  to  ])er- 
fect  self-restraint,  it  is  not  sufficient  to  have  the  power 
of  resisting  only  the  petty  temptations  which  assail  us 
in  the  familiar  routine  of  life,  and  which,  from  their 
familiarity,  can  be  anticipated  and  combated  with 
success.     All    men    arc    e.\])osed,   more    or   less   fre- 


VIRTUK    AS    A    HAllIT    OF    WILL 


3S7 


the  futility 
realized   in 
ine  in  self- 
;h  to  refuse 
which  are 
•y  scantiest 
^se  on  him- 
idopted  for 
^ou  do  not 
ch  facts  as 
nee,  nor  do 
^y  attempts 
you  by  the 
ys  assumed 
ion  is  abso- 
e  art  which 
irt  of  virtu- 
all  learnini^ 
self-control 
straints  as 
and   social 
r  the  indis- 
Without  a 
cts  of  self- 
it   habitual 
ns  can  be 
I  or  to  j)cr- 
the  power 
:h  assail  us 
from  their 
Dated  with 
r   less  fre- 


quently, to  unusual  excitements,  by  which  the  moral 
intelli^L^ence  and  will  are  apt  to  be  surprised  ;  and  a 
strength  of  will  adecpiate  to  cope  with  the  feebler 
emotions  of  common  ex'i^erience,  may  be  overborne 
at  once  by  the  unexpected  force  of  those  immoiler- 
ate  excitements.  Aloral  training  must,  therefore,  be 
planned  to  develop  a  force  of  will  sufficient  to  resist 
not  only  the  vulgar  temptations  which  are  easily 
thrown  aside,  but  even  the  most  powerful  passions 
by  which  life  is  ever  likely  to  be  assailed ;  and  a 
culture  which  has  been  content  with  the  refusal 
only  of  illegitimate  indulgences,  will  not  afford  an 
effective  protection  even  against  these,  when  they 
take  us  at  unawares  by  allurements  of  extraordinary 
fascination,  or  by  emotional  explosions  of  unwonted 
force. 

The  special  discipline,  which  has  just  been  de- 
scribed, is  the  method  of  moral  training  expressed 
by  the  term  askcsis.  This  word  was  often  used  for 
the  careful  and  rigid  discipline  by  which  an  athlete 
trained  himself  for  a  great  athletic  feat  at  the  games 
of  ancient  Greece ;  and  sacred  literature  has  some- 
times, Vvdth  singular  fitness,  cited  this  method  of 
training  to  illustrate  the  discipline  by  which  tlie 
energy  of  moral  will  is  strengthened.^  This  whole- 
some and  rational  askesis  is  not  to  be  confounded 
with  an  irrational  and  morbid  asceticism.  The  latter 
runs  into  the  excess  of  acting  towards  all  pleasure, 
however  natural  and  moderate,  as  if  it  were  in  itself 
a  moral  evil,  and  as  if  the  sacrifice  of  such  pleasure 
WQro,  in  itself,  without  reference  to  any  ulterior  end, 

-  I  Cor.  ix.  23-27. 


3SS 


A\  i.N  ri<()i>rcii().\   I'o  I'lrmcs. 


it 


n 


1 


hti 


5il    r! 


■  ! 

>      ' 

:'i 

,  .' 

( 

hi 

.1 

a 


a  virtuous  act.  l)Ut  a  rational  askcsis,  while  allowing 
a  moderate  iiulul-ence  in  the  natural  pleasures  of 
human  life,  yet  recommends  the  occasional  sacrifice 
of  these;  not  because  such  s:ic--'"  3  of  any  moral 
value  in  itself,  hut  because  the  \oiuntary  effort  of 
declinini;  a  legMiimate  indulgtmce  develops  a  firmer 
will,  antl  thus  tends  to  proiluce  a  liabit  of  self-restraint 
sufficiLiitly  powerful  to  withstand  the  most  temptinLC 
allurements  that  are  incompatible  with  moral  well- 
be  in  1;. 

This  askesis  is  essential  to  iruard  airainst  unirovern- 
able  tem])er  as  well  as  aL';ainsl  un^L;overnable  appetite. 
In  the  moral  history  of  the  world,  the  desire  of  con- 
trolliuLT  the  cravings  of  our  animal  nature  has  iriven 
rise  to  various  disciplines,  —  such  as  fasting,  and 
other  forms  of  self-mortification.  The  same  elabo- 
rate exercises  have  never  been  developed  for  the 
control  of  irascible  passion  ;  perhaps  owing  to  the 
fact  noticed  above,  that  an  immoderate  temper  has 
not  been  commonly  stigmatized  with  so  much  dis- 
grace as  an  immoderate  appetite,  l^ut,  undoubtedly, 
the  highest  morality  demands  the  cultivation  of  that 
habit  of  self  control  by  which  the  unsocial  passions 
are  held  under  rational  restraint.  This  habit,  like 
that  of  temperance,  can  never  be  adequately  devel- 
oped by  checking  merely  such  outbursts  of  temper 
as  are  essentially  unreasonable.  We  must  train  the 
will  by  frequent  askesis  in  repressing  an  angry  word 
or  action,  even  when  the  occasion  might  make  the 

ission 


perfectly 


ex  pi 


of  honest  indignation.     Such  a  discipline  receives  a 
pointed  form  in  the  well-known  recommendation  of 


VIRTUK   AS    A    HAI'.ri    oK    WIIJ.. 


3'^9 


l;  allowing 
:iisurcs  of 
,1  sacrifice 
any  moral 
y  effort  ot 
»s  a  firmer 
If-restraint 
t  lemptiiiLC 
noral  wcU- 

;  iini;'overn- 
le  appetite, 
ire  of  con- 
has  given 
istini!;,   and 
Kime  elabo- 
ed  for   the 
in<;-   to  the 
emper  has 
much  dis- 
doubtedly, 
on  of  that 
il  passions 
habit,  like 
.tely  devel- 
of  temper 
It  train  the 
ngry  word 
make  the 
expression 
receives  a 
indation  of 


St.  Paul  to  prevent  angry  passions  from  seilucing  to 
sin  !)y  closing  each  day  in  a  spirit  of  reconciliation 
with  the  world  :  "  Let  not  the  sun  go  down  upon 
your  wrath." 

The  elaborate  system  of  fasts  and  penances  in  the 
Catholic  Church  was,  in  its  essential  s{)irit,  admirably 
designed  for  that  training  in  self-denial  which  has 
just  been  advocated  and  explained.^  Undoubtedly, 
the  system  was  allowed  to  degenerate  into  many 
gross  abuses  ;  but  without  (luestioning  the  general 
gain  to  the  moral  life  of  the  world  by  the  protest  of 
the  Reformers  against  these  abuses,  it  may  be  feared 
that  Protestantism  has  thrown  away  a  valuable  instru- 
ment of  moral  training  by  abolishing  the  old  penances 
and  fasts  without  providing  any  adequate  substitute. 
The  principal  evils  of  the  medi:i;val  discipline  were 
probably  associated  with  its  publicity.  This  gave  an 
undue  prominence  to  the  overt  action  adopted  for 
disciplinary  purposes,  and  this  action  r^  eived  a 
religious  value  as  an  external  form  without  reference 
to  its  spiritual  intent.  Such  j)ublicity  with  its  ac- 
companying evils  was  developed  in  strange  disregard 
of  the  explicit  warning  directed  by  Christ  against 
abuses  of  a  similar  character,  which  corrupted  the 
discipline  of  religious  life  in  his  own  country.'-^  In 
the  light  of  that  warning,  it  i.-^  obvious  that  the  value 
of  all  such  discipline  for  the  training  of  the  will  must 
depend  on  its  internal  or  spiritual  aspect.     It  must 

i  Even  the  askesis  of  ancient  Greek  gymnasia,  and  tlie  universal  military 
drill  of  many  ancient  Pagan  states,  like  Sparta  and  early  Rome,  had  a  value 
in  tlie  education  of  will-power,  for  which  tiiere  is  no  adequate  substitute  in  the 
educational  systems  of  modern  communities. 

2  Matt.  vi.  i-iS. 


f 


r 


1 


¥l. 


m 


11 


390 


AN    IXTKODrCTinX  Tr>   I.TIIICS. 


[iv(;itl  unnecessary  i)ul)licily  ;  it  must  be  coiuluctetl 
so  as  not  to  be  seen  of  men.  lUit  the  man  wlio 
(|uietly,  unostentatiously,  resolves  to  deny  himsell"  an 
allowable  pleasure,  or  even  to  subject  himself  to  a 
hardship  that  is  not  absolutely  obli^Ljatory,  in  order 
that  he  may  school  his  will  into  habits  of  self-restraint, 
is  drawin^^  upon  the  true  fountain  of  spiritual  force, 
and  will  assuredly  obtain  the  reward  he  seeks. 

This  self-denyinjj^  discipline,  when  it  does  not  con- 
sist in  the  infliction  of  positive  pain  or  hardship,  must 
be  an  abstinence  from  some  gratification.  Such  ab- 
stinence, however,  must  not  be  limited  to  sin<;le 
acts;  but  must  in  many  particular  cases  be  extended 
over  lonj,^  periods,  if  not  even  over  the  whole  life. 
The  recjuirements  of  moral  training  in  this  respect 
can  be  fully  defined  only  by  an  intelligent  considera- 
tion of  each  particular  case;  but  certain  general  prin- 
ciples will  be  obvious  to  any  earnest  mind.  Some 
of  these  bear  upon  objective,  some  upon  subjective 
conditions. 

I.  In  the  first  place,  there  arc  some  objects,  espe- 
cially those  that  gratify  bodily  appetite,  which,  by 
their  peculiar  action  upon  bodily  tissue,  are  apt  to 
jjroduce  an  inordinate  craving,  and  thus  to  impose  a 
formidable,  if  not  insuperable,  physical  barrier  in  the 
way  of  temperance.  The  use  of  such  stimulants 
must  obviously  be  accompanied  with  the  greatest 
precaution ;  and,  if  stimulants  are  used  at  all,  no 
precaution  can  be  more  effective  than  that  of  occa- 
sionally abstaining  from  them  for  the  sake  of  moral 
welfare  as  strictly  and  cheerfully  as  any  intelligent 
man  would  in  general   give  them   up  for  the  sake  of 


VI  KIT  i:    AS    A    IIAIilT   OF    WII.I. 


391 


conducted 
man  wlio 
hiinscU  an 
msclf  to  a 
',  in  order 
f-rcstraint, 
itiial  force, 
cks. 

OS  not  con- 
Iship,  must 
Such  ab- 
to    sin<;lo 
)c  extended 
whole  hfe. 
his  respect 
;  considera- 
eneral  prin- 
nd.     Some 
subjective 

ects,  espe- 
which,  by 
are  apt  to 
o  impose  ;i 
•rier  in  the 
stimulants 
le  greatest 

at  all,  no 
lat  of  occa- 
;e  of  moral 

intelligent 
the  sake  of 


bodily  health.  i\nd  this  rule  applii-s,  not  nuTely  to 
the  coarser  stimulants  which  modily  the  bodily  sen- 
sibility, but  to  all  causes  of  emotional  excitement 
which  are  apt  to  transgress  the  limits  of  motleration, 
csiiecially  if  the  excitement  enters  the  region  of  un- 
social passion. 

2.  Ikit  the  obligation  of  abstinence  may  be  im 
posed  by  subjective  conditions.  A  man  may  be  tlie 
victim  of  moral  weakness  in  some  particular  direc- 
tion, blither  from  the  faults  of  his  earlier  life,  or 
from  hereditary  disposition,  he  may  be  alMicted  with 
a  i)erilous  tendency  to  some  form  of  excess.  The 
tendency  in  such  cases  may  be  so  over[)o\vering,  tliat 
nothing  but  UKjral  disaster  can  result  from  any  at- 
temi)t  to  cope  with  it  when  it  is  excited  to  activity  ; 
and  the  only  C(jurse  consistent  with  the  commonest 
moral  jirudence  is  to  a\'oid  all  situations  where  th  j 
dangerous  excitement  is  likely  to  arise.  As  a  rule, 
any  man  can,  by  voluntary  effort,  put  himself  out  of 
the  road  of  a  tem}")tation,  even  though  he  might  be 
utterly  helpless  to  struggle  against  it,  once  he  is 
under  its  power. 

For  this  reason,  among  others,  the  discii)line  of 
abstinence  is  peculiarly  obligatory  upon  the  young. 
This  holds  especially  in  regard  to  the  use  of  stimu- 
lants. In  its  normal  state  the  organism  during 
youth  cannot,  on  any  medical  theory,  be  regarded  as 
requiring  for  its  healthful  activity  the  abnormal  as- 
sistance which  stimulants  afford  ;  and  their  use, 
while  the  organism  is  growing,  may  impart  a  taint 
which  it  mav  become  extremelv  difficult,  iierhaps  im- 


ay 


possible,  to  eradicate.      Ihit    apart   fr 


om 


th 


is,  it   IS  m 


:1    1 


392 


AN    IXTROnUCTIOX    TO    ETHICS. 


youth  that  all  tlie  lial^its  are  l^cini;  formed  ;  and  it  is 
then  that  every  human  beini;  must,  by  careful  train- 
inf:r,  school  himself  into  habits  of  self-restraint,  and 
avoid  the  formation  of  habits  which  render  self- 
restraint  difficult  in  after-life.  For  this  pu-^pose, 
therefore,  it  is  imperative  to  keep  poison  from  the 
mind  as  well  as  from  the  body  ;  for  it  is  a  mournful 
fact,  that  literature  and  art  are  sometimes  prostituted 
to  pollute  the  mind  with  impure  ideas,  whose  su_<:^- 
gestion  may  be  a  perpetual  drag  upon  the  soul  in  its 
aspirations  after  a  pure  morality. 

The  discipline  of  abstinence,  however,  must  not  be 
carried  so  far  as  to  exclude  that  experience  of  evil 
and  that  actual  conflict  with  it,  which  form  an  essen- 
tial part  of  moral  training.  The  innocence  of  child- 
hood is  a  pretty  ideal  for  the  period  of  life  to  which 
it  properly  belongs.  The  attempt  to  prolong  it  into 
youth  or  manhood  can  rarely  be  successful  ;  the  vic- 
tim of  such  an  attempt  wi!'  often  be  surprised  by  the 
rude  shock  of  a  sudden  encounter  with  vices,  before 
which  his  infantile  moral  energy  may  collapse  at 
once.  But  even  if  such  an  attempt  be  successful,  it 
aims  at  a  false  ideal.  At  best  the  innocence  of  child- 
hood is  merely  freedom  from  actual  sins  ;  it  is  not 
the  possession  of  positive  holiness  ;  and  it  would  be 
a  serious  moral  blunder  to  confound  it  with  the  tried 
virtue  of  the  man  who,  in  the  thick  of  the  battle  of 
life,  grapples  with  temptation  every  day,  and,  in 
spite  of  occasional  defeats,  is  steadily  fighting  his 
way  towards  the  immortal  victory. 

And  therefore,  also,  tlie  plea  for  abstinence  must 
not  overlook  the  success  which  may  often  attend  a 


IK'S. 

mcd  ;  and  it  is 
'  careful  train- 
-rcstraint,  and 
1    render    sclf- 

this  pu'-pose, 
ison  from  the 

is  a  mournful 

ics  prostituted 

IS,  whose  su,c^- 

the  soul  in  its 

r,  must  not  be 
:ricnce  of  evil 
form  an  cssen- 
:ence  of  child- 
life  to  which 
prolong  it  into 
sful  ;  the  vic- 
priscd  by  the 
vices,  before 
,y  collapse  at 
successful,  it 
ence  of  child- 
ns  ;  it  is  not 
1  it  would  be 
with  the  tried 
the  battle  of 
day,    and,    in 
fighting   his 

tincnce  must 
ften  attend  a 


"••1 


VIRTCr:    AS    A    ITAIUT    OF    WILL 


393 


vigorous  resolve  to  confront  temptation  boldly,  and 
trample  it  under  foot.  There  are  crises  of  exalted 
enthusiasm,  when  this  may  be  the  wisest  policy  to 
pursue  ;  but  it  is  a  wise  i)()licy  only  when  such  en- 
thusiasm is  at  hand  to  back  up  the  effort  by  its 
extraordinary  force.  A  march  into  the  enemy's 
territory,  an  assault  upon  his  stronghold,  may  be  at 
times  advisable  in  moral,  as  in  other,  warfare  ;  but  it 
is  always  a  perilous  game  to  play,  and  can  be  justified 
only  by  certainty  of  success.^ 

§  2.    /\^.s7V/tv'    Virtue. 

Virtue  is  not  merely  a  negative  habit  of  refraining 
from  action ;  it  is  also  a  positive  habit  of  doing 
actions.  In  fact,  these  two  aspects  of  virtue  are  not 
absolutely  distinct.  For,  on  the  one  hand,  a  positive 
effort  of  will  is  implied  in  the  restraint  which  checks 
a  passion  from  finding  vent  in  action,  and  often  even 
a  positive  external  act  is  rec[uired  to  make  repres- 
sion effective.  On  the  other  hand,  the  repression 
of  an  obstructive  passion  is  often  necessary  to  clear 
the  way  for  positive  action.  In  the  culture  of  posi- 
tive and  negative  v'rtucs  alike,  therefore,  the  object 
is  to  train  the  will  into  the  habit  of  directing  ])oth 
internal  and  external  life  to  moral  ends.  Accoi'd- 
ingly  the  same  general  principles  may  be  applied  here, 
which  have  been  explained  in  the  previous  section. 

{A)   In  the  first  place,  it  must  be  borne   in  miii  I 

1  The  records  of  asceticism  tell  some  stranj^e  stories  of  f;inta>tic.  morliid. 
perilous  cxperimentis  in  tliis  form  of  teinpt;\tion.  On  tlic  other  h.uid.  'I'eimy- 
son's  .y,>rt/icr)i  Cobbler  qives,  in  all  its  natural  homely  jiathns,  a  -in'^'uLuly 
wlicilfsonie  and  inspiriting;  iiicturc  of  a  cnura.ijeous  deliance  of  powertul  temp- 
tation, maintained  successfulK  throuuli  many  years. 


llfi  ■  fi'i 


394 


A\  ixrKODi'CTiox  ']'()  i;i'iii(;s. 


that  virtue  docs  not  consist  of  s[)or:i(lic  thoughts  and 
schtimcnts  and  volitions  wliicli  liavc  no  connection 
with  the  permanent  habits  of  the  agent.  It  is  j^re- 
cisely  these  hal)its,  constituting  his  general  character, 
that  alone  entitle  him  to  be  called  a  virtuous  man, 
and  a  virtuous  character  is  simply  an  habitual  will  to 
act  virtuously.  It  is  this  habitual  will,  therefore, 
that  forms  the  object  of  moral  training. 

l?ut,  as  shown  above,  an  habitual  tendency  of  the 
o])posite  kind  is  so  deeply  ingrained  in  all  men,  that 
it  seems  like  a  native  disposition  of  the  luuiTan  mind. 
Accordingly,  as  was  also  pointed  out  in  the  same 
connection,  moral  culture  becomes  of  necessity  a 
reformation  or  revolution.  Ikit  this  change  is  not 
merely  negative,  —  not  merely  the  annihilation  of 
the  old  disposition  to  evil ;  it  is  the  creation  of  a  new 
disposition  to  positive  goodness.  The  nature  of  this 
moral  change  has  been  expressed  by  various  figures, 
but  by  none  more  appropriate  or  striking  than  that 
embodied  in  the  Christian  doctrine  of  regeneration, 
which  represents  the  change  as  the  birth  of  a  new  or 
higher  life  in  the  spirit  of  man.  Hut  it  must  not  be 
supposed  that  this  doctrine  is  merely  a  fiction  of 
Christian  theology,  to  be  proved  by  citation  am! 
exposition  of  certain  Scriptural  texts  :  it  is  a  fact 
obtruded  more  or  less  prominently  in  all  thoughtful 
reflection  on  the  growth  of  man's  moral  life.  Indeed, 
among  the  Stoics  the  necessity  and  actuality  of  this 
chnnge  were  sometimes  accentuated  with  a  harsh- 
ness   scarcely   e([ualle(l   in  the   sharpest    distinctions, 


w 


hich   Christian    writers    h:i\- 


ever   drawn, 


bet 


wt.cn 


"en  MM.; 


■MV 


iini'e""iMi 


M  '  11  'n, 


VIRTUE   AS   A    IIAIUT   OF    WILL. 


395 


i()U!'iits  and 
connection 

It  is  prc- 
1  character, 
tuous  man, 
itual  will  to 

therefore, 

;ncy  of  the 
I  men,  that 
nnan  mind. 
:  the  same 
lecessity  a 
n<4"e  is  not 
hilation  of 
)n  of  a  now 
ure  of  this 
•us  figures, 

than  that 

generation, 

f  a  new  or 

ust  not  ])e 

fiction  of 
ation    and 

is  a  fact 
.lioui^htful 
i.  Indeed, 
ity  of  this 

a  harsh- 
itinctioiis, 
,   between 


(B)  But  this  general  renovation  of  moral  disposi- 
tion can  become  a  reality  only  in  specific  actions  ;  and 
therefore  we  have  to  consider  what  are  the  actions  by 
which  this  renovation  is  to  be  realized  and  confirmed. 
Here,  as  in  the  previous  section,  it  must  be  obvious 
tliat  amoral  discipline,  adopted  for  the  specific  pur- 
pose of  training  the  will,  cannot  be  restricted  to  those 
actions  which  are  imperatively  demanded  by  the  moral 
requirements  of  the  moment.  In  these  the  agent  sim- 
ply does  what  it  is  his  duty  to  do  ;  and  his  action 
remains  in  a  certain  sense  morally  unprofitable,  be- 
cause it  is  not  designed  to  make  any  specific  gain  in 
moral  character.  In  order  to  such  gain,  it  is  indis- 
pensable to  adopt  a  discipline  which  shall  train  the 
will  to  habits  of  positive  goodness;  and  a  discipline 
designed  to  serve  this  puri)ose,  must  consist  of  actions 
which  are  not  included  in  the  ''(^terminate  require- 
ments of  duty.  Such  actions  may,  therefore,  in  a 
certain  sense,  be  spoken  of  as  works  of  supereroga- 
tion ;  it  cannot  be  said  that  the  agent  is  under  an 
obligation  to  do  precisely  these  rather  than  any  other 
actions  of  a  similar  intent.  Hut,  on  the  other  hand, 
these  actions  are  not  supererogatory,  in  the  sense 
that  the  agent  is  under  no  obligation  to  adopt  some 
discipline,  such  as  they  involve,  to  form  a  character 
of  positive  goodness. 

The  actions,  which  serve  the  purposes  of  such  a 
discipline,  are  obviously  not  those  which  are  included 
among  the  bare  requirements  of  civic  law.  As  ex- 
plained above,  these  represent  only  in  an  imperfect 
form  the  moral  obligations  even  of  justice.  Accord- 
ingly a  certain  sphere  of  discipline  is  offered  in  those 


39<5 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO   ETHICS. 


IV  '■: 


W' 


^ 


y> 


■I.  ;  I 


M  I 


!  si 


W 


obligations  of  justice  which  cannot  be  enforced  at 
law.  The  voluntary  fulfilment  of  these  will  tend  to 
habituate  the  will  to  a  clear  and  quick  recognition  of 
the  rights  of  others. 

I?ut  even  the  highest  requirements  of  justice  arc 
simply  the  determinate  obligations  which  every  man 
is  imperatively  bound  to  fulfil  at  each  moment  as  they 
arise.  Since  it  is  not  a  matter  of  choice  with  him 
whether  he  ought  to  fulfil  these  obligations  or  not, 
they  cannot  form  a  discipline  undertaken  optionally 
for  the  special  purpose  of  moral  culture.  All  that  is 
implied  in  performing  an  obligation  of  justice,  is  that 
the  agent  abstains  from  doing  a  wrong.  But  what  is 
now  required  is  a  peculiar  askesis  to  educate  the  will 
into  the  habit  of  doing  positive  good.  Such  an  aske- 
sis  must  therefore  be  sought  rather  in  those  inde- 
terminate obligations  of  benevolence  which  do  not 
represent  the  definite  moral  demands  of  any  particu- 
lar moment.  At  any  moment  when  a  particular  deed 
of  benevolence  is  not  imperatively  demanded,  it  may 
be  optionally  performed  for  the  purpose  of  training 
the  will  to  positive  virtue.  Nor  is  it  desirable,  in  a 
discipline  of  this  kind,  generally  to  wait  for  a  more 
convenient  season  in  which  to  perform  an  act  of  be- 
nevolence. On  the  contrary,  the  value  of  such  an 
act  for  moral  discipline  is  greatly  enhanced  when  the 
circumstances  render  it  inconvenient ;  and  nothing 
will  school  the  will  into  habits  of  prompt  and  vig- 
orous activity  in  goodness  more  effectively  than  an 
occasional  exercise  in  which  we  force  ourselves  to  do 
a  kindly  act  simply  because  it  happens  to  be  un- 
pleasant at  the  time.     And  here  again  it  is  important 


ifA\* 


VIRTUE    AS    A    1IA1;IT    OF    WILL. 


397 


to  renew  the  warning  of  Lhe  groat  Teacher  against 
the  danger  of  weakening  the  internal  discipline  of 
spiritnal  life  by  diverting  it  into  any  kind  of  external 
show.  As  in  the  culture  of  negative  virtue  the  self- 
denial,  adopted  as  an  askesis,  becomes  most  effect iw 
when  it  is  conducted  so  as  not  to  be  seen  of  men,  so 
in  the  culture  of  positive  virtue  those  acts  of  genei- 
osity  bear  the  richest  fruits,  in  the  performance  of 
which  the  left  hand  is  not  allowed  to  know  what  the 
right  hand  doeth. 

Apart  from  the  liberal  exercise  of  the  obligations 
of  positive  benevolence,  there  can  scarcely  be  said  to 
be  any  living  morality  ;  the  vital  forces  of  the  moral 
spirit  shrivel  into  the  dead  forms  of  a  spiritless  legal- 
ity. It  is  for  this  reason  that  any  self-satisfaction 
over  the  fulfilment  of  the  bare  obligations  of  justice 
stands  as  a  hopeless  obstacle  in  the  way  of  all  prog- 
ress to  that  elevated  sphere  of  the  moral  life,  in 
which  the  positive  virtues  luxuriate  ;  and  in  all  ages 
those  who  have  sunk  into  serious  moral  disgrace,  but 
whose  spirits  have  remained  open  to  penitent  self- 
condemnation,  have  gone  into  the  kingdom  of  God 
before  the  self-righteous  Pharisee. 


398 


AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    LTIIICS. 


CONCLUSION. 


i  f 


m 


|i: 


'I 


The  discipline,  which  has  been  described  as  neces- 
sary for  moral  culture  in  all  its  phases,  is  seen  to  be 
demanded  by  the  essential  nature  of  virtue ;  in  other 
words,  the  laws  of  moral  culture  are  those  in  accord- 
ance with  which  habits  are  formed.  It  may  therefore 
be  worth  while  to  <;ather  in  a  brief  summary  the 
rules  which  have  been  assumed  or  ill'istrated  in  the 
j^receding  chapters.^ 

I.  The  first  maxim  appropriately  refers  to  the  ini- 
tiation of  moral  training  in  any  particular  direction  : 
it  points  to  the  importance  of  making  a  good  start. 
A  great  gain  is  made  at  the  very  outset,  if  some  step 
can  be  taken  that  commits  a  man  irrevocably  to  the 
course  upon  which  he  is  determined.  It  is  this  that 
gives  a  deep  moral  significance  to  religious  vows  or 
sacraments,  as  well  as  to  those  formal  pledges  which 
are  often  taken,  without  any  explicit  religious  sanc- 
tion, as  an  incitement  to  moral  effort.  Such  a  step 
may  assume  various  forms.  All  that  is  essential  is, 
that  it  should  be  an  act  by  which  a  die  is  cast,  a  Ru- 
bicon crossed,  in  life,  —  an  act  which  creates  either 

1  Some  of  the  most  useful  suggestions  on  the  formation  of  liabit,  I  owe  to 
Professor  Bain's  Emotions  and  Will,  especially  to  the  chapter  on  the  Moral 
Habits.  Professor  lames  has  very  justly  called  attention  to  the  value  of  these 
sii;,'gestions  {Principles  of  Psychology^  Vol.  I.  pp.  122,  123). 


CONCLUSIOX. 


399 


cd  as  neccs- 
,  seen  to  be 
ae ;  in  other 
se  in  accord- 
ay  therefore 
ummary  the 
rated  in  the 

Irs  to  the  ini- 
ir  direction  : 
o-ood  start, 
f  some  step 
ably  to  the 
is  this  that 
ous  vows  or 
edges  which 
ijrious  sane- 
Such  a  step 
essential  is, 
J  cast,  a  Ru- 
eates  either 

of  habit,  I  owe  to 
)ter  on  the  Moral 
Ithe  value  of  tliese 


a  physical  obstacle  or  an  ovcrpowerini;  motive  against 
any  subsequent  faltering  or  change  of  puri)ose. 

2.  But  not  only  must  there  be  a  strong  determina- 
tion to  begin  with  ;  it  requires  to  be  persistently  car- 
ried out.  For  in  the  formation  of  a  habit  the  main 
agency  is  not  the  initial  impulse,  but  rather  the  rei)e- 
tition  of  an  association  till  it  becomes  practically  in- 
dissoluble. It  is  therefore  of  prime  importance,  that, 
during  this  process,  the  association  shall  not  once 
be  broken.  The  injurious  effects  of  such  an  interrup- 
tion are  often  felt  in  every  sphere  of  habitual  action. 
In  training  accuracy  of  muscle,  a  miss  —  an  awkward 
stroke,  a  clumsy  blunder  —  will  often  shatter  con- 
fidence and  impair  steadiness  of  nerve  for  a  while. 
Every  teacher  knows  how  an  inadvertent  slip  in  learn- 
ing the  multiplication  table,  or  any  other  task  of  mem- 
ory, shows  a  provoking  tendency  to  repetition.  Most 
men  have  to  endure  the  mortification  of  finding  them- 
selves at  times  victims  of  petty  mistakes  which  they 
may  have  made  but  once,  which  yet  for  a  long  time 
afterwards  they  can  avoid  only  by  constant  caution. 
This  fact  is  illustrated  with  peculiar  power  in  forming 
the  habits  of  moral  life,  perhaps  mainly  because  in 
these  pass'  -n  is  often  called  strongly  into  play.  I*^)r 
in  forming  associations  it  is  not  merely  the  frequency 
of  repetition  that  tells,  but  also  intensity  of  impres- 
sion ;  and  theretore  it  is  a  familiar  experience,  that 
even  a  trivial  incident  is  recalled  with  ease  long  years 
after  it  happened,  if  only  it  chanced  to  be  accompa- 
nied with  some  vivid  emotional  interest.  Now,  a 
breach  of  moral  discipline  is,  perhaps  most  commonly, 
'lue  to  a  sudden  outburst  of  passion,  with  which  the 


400 


AN    IXTRODUCTION   To   1:11111  S. 


will  is  not  strong  enough  to  co[)c  ;  and  this  cxphiiii.i 
why  there  arc  few  fact:-;  in  life  more  dishearten ing 
than  the  complete  collapse  of  moral  energy,  that  often 
follows  a  single  irregularity  in  the  course  of  training 
by  which  an  old  vice  is  to  be  eradicated  or  a  young 
virtue  strengthened. 

3.  In  this  light  we  have  an  additional  reason  for  a 
maxim,  which  has  been  illustrated  at  length  in  the 
])rcceding  chapter,  to  avoid,  while  a  nascent  virtue  is 
still  tender,  exposing  it  to  unusual  temptation.  Th(Te 
is  many  a  life  brightened  for  a  time  with  a  fair 
promise  of  virtue,  which  is  afterwards  nipped  in 
the  bud  by  a  devastating  storm  of  passion,  or  by  the 
chilling  atmosphere  of  lukewarm  or  callous  compan- 
ionshij). 

4.  But  there  is  an  additional  maxim  which,  though 
sufficiently  recognized  in  other  spheres  of  activity, 
and  even  in  other  spheres  of  education,  does  not 
generally  receive  the  prominence  it  deserves  in 
moral  training.  The  maxim  is  founded  on  the 
necessity  of  avoiding  a  dissipation  of  moral  energy 
by  attempting  too  much  at  a  time,  —  the  necessity 
of  concentrating  energy  in  order  to  effective  work. 
This  is  the  principle  embodied  in  the  homely  proverb 
that  condemns  the  Jack  of  all  trades,  who  is  master 
of  none.  The  same  principle,  in  special  reference 
to  intellectual  culture,  is  expressed  in  a  remark  of 
Locke  :  ''  The  great  art  to  learn  much  is  to  undertake 
little  at  a  tima"  But  the  principle  applies  in  moral 
culture  as  well.  It  has  been  already  pointed  out,^ 
how  the  limitation  of  human  power  affects  the  devcl- 

1  Sec  above,  p.  336. 


CONC'I.L'SIOX. 


401 


lis  c.\[)hiin.> 
shcartening 
J,  that  often 
of  training 
or  a  young 

reason  for  a 
igth  in  the 
jnt  virtue  is 
ion.  There 
with  a  fair 
^  nipped  in 
n,  or  by  the 
JUS  compan- 

lich,  though 
of  activity, 
n,  does    not 
deserves    in 
led    on    the 
loral  energy 
le  necessity 
active  work, 
lely  proverb 
10  is  master 
il  reference 
I  remark  of 
o  undertake 
es  in  moral 
ointed  out,^ 
;s  the  devcl- 


oi)ment  of  tlie  moral  Hfe,  leading  at  times  even  to  an 
apparent  conflict  between  the  claims  of  private  antl 
those  of  social  morality.  On  this  gruiuul  it  is  im[)or- 
tant  that  at  each  stage  of  moral  progress  the  individual 
should  concentrate  his  energies  in  those  directions  in 
which  they  are  specially  required.  ICvery  man  ol 
ordinary  prudence  takes  special  precautions  against 
any  disease  to  which  he  may  from  any  cause  be 
peculiarly  exposed,  against  any  habits  which  are 
peculiarly  injurious  to  his  health.  The  same  pru- 
dence, applied  to  the  moral  life,  will  lead  a  man  to 
find  out  his  peculiar  weaknesses,  and  to  direct  his 
efforts  specially  to  the  removal  of  these.  There  is, 
therefore,  a  sound  practical  sense  in  the  suggestion 
of  Dc  hnitationc  Christi,  —  that  if  we  were  only  to 
overcome  one  vice  every  year,  we  might  come  near 
to  perfection  ere  the  close  of  this  life. 

In  all  the  methods  of  moral  training  which  have 
been  thus  described,  it  is  evident  that  exertion  of 
will  is  implied,  if  it  is  not  explicitly  assumed.  In 
fact,  although  for  the  purposes  of  science  we  distin- 
guish intelligence  and  feeling  and  will,  it  must  never 
be  supposed  that  they  are  separated  in  actual  life  as 
they  are  in  scientific  exposition.  Such  separation  is 
peculiarly  impossible  when  intelligence  and  feeling 
and  will  are  viewed  in  their  ethical  relations  ;  for  all 
moral  activity  is  an  effort  of  will  under  the  direction 
of  intelligence,  and  the  impulse  of  intelligent  emo- 
tion. All  moral  training  is  therefore  essentially  a 
training  of  the  will.  Accordingly  the  moral  habits, 
which  in  the  aggregate  constitute  what  we  under- 
stand by  a  man's  character,  are  thus  also  to  be  viewed 


I 


t 

I 


ff;  ',> 


r 


■  i 
i  i 

^     1 

•.'Hi: 

h 


403 


A.\  IN  rK(M)L(;i'i(;N  to  irniics. 


as  essentially  habits  of  will  ;  so  that  character  is 
truly  described,  in  an  often-ciuoted  saying  of  Novalis, 
as  completely  formed  will. 

In  this  saying,  Novalis  seems  to  have  had  in  view 
character  in  its  highest  sense,  that  is,  what  we  name 
ilistinctively  moral  character.  I'or  an  immoral  or 
vicious  character  is  not  a  completely  formed  will ;  it 
is  a  will  that  is  yet  but  incompletely  developed,  that 
has  not  yet  delivered  itself  from  the  bondage  of 
natural  or  irrational  passion  into  the  free  activity  of 
reason.  A  will  thus  completely  formed  is  virtue. 
Such  a  will,  therefore,  is  the  end  of  all  culture  ;  antl 
consequently  Kant  was  right  in  describing  it  as  the 
Sovereign  Good,  for  it  is  the  only  object  that  is  good 
in  itself.  It  is  true,  there  are  objects  apart  from  the 
will  which  are  spoken  of  as  naturally  good,  as  bring- 
ing a  good  by  mere  natural  causation  independently 
of  moral  effort.  Such  an  object  is  pleasure, — the 
various  forms  of  agreeable  excitement  which  arise 
from  the  action  of  natural  sensibility.  But  neither 
is  natural  pleasure  in  itself  a  good,  nor  natural  pain 
in  itself  an  evil.  It  depends  on  the  voluntary  use  we 
make  of  them,  that  is  to  say,  it  depends  on  their 
relation  to  our  will,  whether  pleasure  and  pain  shall 
be  evil  or  good.  They  are  therefore  not  absolutely, 
but  only  relatively,  good  ;  they  arc  good  by  reference 
to  the  will  that  controls  them,  while  the  perfect  will 
remains  the  Sovereign  Good  which  gives  goodness  to 
every  other  object  in  life. 

It  thus  appears  that  men  can  find  their  Sovereign 
Good  only  in  volition,  in  intelligent  moral  action  ; 
and  I'vthics,  even  as  a  speculative  science,  would  fail 


s. 

character  is 
;  of  Novalis, 

had  in  view 
lat  we  name 
immoral   or 
med  will ;  it 
/eloped,  that 
bondat;e  of 
;e  activity  of 
:d    is  virtue, 
culture  ;  and 
ng  it  as  the 
that  is  good 
art  from  the 
)od,  as  bring- 
idependently 
asure,  — the 
which  arise 
3ut  neither 
natural  pain 
ntary  use  we 
ds  on  their 
d  pain  shall 
absolutely, 
3y  reference 
perfect  will 
goodness  to 

ir  Sovereign 
oral  action  ; 
e,  would  fail 


CON('I,rSF(tM. 


403 


to  convey  its  most  important  lesson  if  it  did  not 
enforce  the  truth  that  the  essential  value  ot  morality 
consists  in  its  i)ractice.  "  We  do  noL  engage  in  these 
in(|uiries,"  said  Aristotle,  "merely  in  order  to  know 
what  virtue  is,  but  in  order  to  become  good  men."  ' 
There  is,  of  course,  a  certain  sense  in  which  a  similar 
remark  may  be  made  of  all  j)ractical  sciences  ;  but 
not  to  the  same  extent,  l^'or  arts  that  are  not  intrin- 
sically connected  with  morality  have  a  purely  scien- 
tific interest ;  they  may  be,  and  often  are,  studied 
merely  for  the  interest  of  knowing  them,  without 
any  intention  of  carrying  the  knowledge  to  i>ractical 
account.  Ikit  this  is  because  these  arts  do  not  form 
absolutely  essential  factors  in  the  life  of  every  man  ; 
the  ends  which  they  have  in  view  are  merely  partic- 
ular purposes  which  individuals  may  form  or  not,  as 
they  choose.  15ut  the  end  of  moral  culture  is  pre- 
cisely the  essential  end  of  all  human  existence.  It 
forms  the  stake  that  is  cast  in  life  by  all  men,  with 
but  one  chance  to  win  or  lose.  It  is  therefore  only 
by  the  attainment  of  this  end,  that  life  becomes  in 
any  sense  a  success  :  without  this  end  it  is  an  irrep- 
arable failure. 

Accordingly,  it  is  by  the  light  of  its  moral  end 
alone,  that  life  receives  any  rational  mean'ng.  Ajoart 
from  this,  it  becomes,  in  its  ultimate  analysis,  abso- 
lutely unintelligible.  And  therefore  it  is  singularly 
fitting  that  the  irenius  of  our  great  dramatist  should 
describe  a  typical  representative  of  the  man  who 
loses  hold  of  ethical  aims  as  finding  in  human  exist- 
ence nothing  but  a  meaningless  show. 

i  E/Zi,  iV/V.,  II.  2,  I.     See  also  X.  9,  i :  and  compare  Kpictetus,  Enc/i,j  51. 


!;i'^ 


'li    li: 


404  AN    INTRODUCTION   TO    KTIIICS. 

"  Life's  Ijiit  u  walking  shadow;  a  pf)f)r  player, 
'I'hal  struts  aiul  frets  his  hour  ui>f)M  the  stage, 
And  tiicn  is  heard  no  more  :  it  is  a  lalc 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 
Signifying  nothing."  ' 


li 


V 


':,'!■ 


¥1 


Aiul  when  life  is  thus  divorced  from  rational  purpose, 
all  significance  vanishes  out  of  the  universe  too;  the 
external  ol)jects  of  thou^^iit  become  fictions  as  mean- 
ingless as  the  internal  objects  of  the  will ; 

"This  round  of  green,  this  orb  of  flame, 
Fantastic  beauty,  such  as  lurks 
In  sonic  wild  ]>oct  when  he  works 
Without  a  conscience  or  an  aim."  '^ 


I  Macbeth,  Act  V.  Sc.  5. 


2  hi  Afcmoriam,  34. 


.»'! 


ii 


cs. 

layer, 
;  stage, 


I  N  1)  K  X. 


onal  purpose, 
crsc  too  ;  I  he 
ions  as  mean- 


nam,  34. 


Annu  HEN  AniiKM.  -563. 

Alexander  the  (Meat, "si,  8r 
AlrxamliT,  S.,  225. 
Allen,  (irant,  ^i. 
A/tniis»i,  146. 
Ambrose,  St.,  -549. 
Anarchism,  20';,  274, 
Antisthenes,  S2. 
Aniibis,  27,S. 

Aret.,l„iry,  3^7. 

Anstutlo,   I,  S2,    147,   ,7,, 
21.S,  224,  243,  2;;o.  270, 
334.   .lA  .14',   M7,    152, 

Arimkl,  Matthew,  359,  375. 
Asi-L-sis,  387. 
Avarice,  157, 


I5acchiis,  27S. 
iSacon,  338. 

''t4,t.V^"*^'   "'   '"^'    ""'    "'■»' 
Bancroft,  119. 

Jjentham,  ,,0,  ,4,,,4S,  ,53,  ,55. 
Islood-revenge,  76,  92.  -'     ■'J 

Unmo,  Giordano,  167. 
Bunscn,  307. 


•72, 

2Sr), 
3<>7, 


21;, 

2S.S, 
3(^9r 


304-306. 

Chaucer,  141. 

Chrysippus,  82. 

Church,  276-279. 

Cicero,  2,  45,  Sr,  14,    157    2^- 

341,349,361.  ^•^' 

Clan,  75. 

Clarke,  Samuel,  221-224. 
Combat,  Judicial,  95. 
Cousin,  Victor,  35. 


260, 


Crime.  r,r,,  317-^526. 
Cuclworth,  219-221. 

Dante,  107. 
Darwin,  71. 
Deloe.  i)^. 

/V  /»ii(,itio>te  Christi,  401 
Dt!  Muri,Mn,  195. 

Dec.tltoioay,   141. 

Dioijenes,  Si. 

Doriier,  250. 

I>ruids,  27,S. 

lhu\  Duty,  141. 

Duellinij,  95. 

fyoistir,  44. 

j'Jliot.  (Jeor^'e,  98,  100,  218. 
•■I'ictetus,  81,384,  403.   ■ 
I'-'iiinyes,  96,  106. 
I'.thiis,  I. 

I'.tlioiopjv,  2, 
'uidemonism,  144. 
Kudo.xus,  147, 

Family,  74,  263. 
I'atalism,  129. 
Feri,'uson,  Adam,  22s. 
Fichte,  I.  H.,  250. 
I-lagellants,  95. 
Flint,  Professor 

I'or/cit,  217. 
rowler,  29S. 

Friendship,  334. 

runes,  96. 


Gait,  146. 

Gay,  157. 

Genius,  21. 

Gens,  75. 

Goethe,  68,  roo,  172,236. 

Green,  Professor,  130. 

Grote,  2S0,  294. 

Haman,  91. 
Harrison,  F.,  36. 


'57- 


405 


4o6 


INDKX. 


:i 


)l 


„u. 

J 

,  *■ 

t: 

H 

Hartley,  157. 

Heaven  and  Hell,  93. 

Ilecker.  9.). 

Hedonism,  145. 

He.Ljel,  254. 

}Ic,i^esias,  1S4,  341. 

Helvctiiis,  44. 

}Ierakleit()s,  !o6,  169. 

Heredity,  15. 

Herodotus,  77,  299. 

Heroes,  20. 

Historical  Method.  31-3S,  172. 

Hobbes.  (t,  47,  56,  203,  219,  223. 

Horace,  341. 

Hume,  102.  1 98,  343, 

Ilutcheson,  60,  155,  20S,  367. 

Idleness,  294. 

Imperative,   Catetjorical,    and    Hypo- 

tlietical,  67. 
Inipeitect  Obligations,  249. 
Inlanticitle,  78. 
Isis,  27S. 

James,  Professor  W.,  161,  39S. 
Johnson,  1 16.  375. 
Jost,  100. 
Jurisprudence,  244. 

Kant,  41,  67,  226-231,  264,  29S,  299, 

,  33O'  3.34-  343»  3^3-  402. 
Karncades,  201. 
Keats,  102. 
King,  Archbishop,  157. 

Law,  241-244. 

Lecky,  155,  210,  275,  2S2,  2S7,   295, 

307»34',343- 
I.ivy,  260. 

hockc,  221.  222,  400. 

I-oiimer,  248,  353. 

Luxury,  295. 

Macaulay,  305. 

MacLennan.  74. 

Maiiomet  Kffendi,  167. 

Maine,  Sir  Henry,  31,  33,  73,  75,  8S, 

97,  3'.o,  3'4>3'S- 
Mandevilje,  45,  167. 
Martensen,  250. 
Menander,  243, 
Alenenius  Agrippa,  260. 
Menu,  Laws  of,  301,  323. 
Menzcl,  283. 

Mill,  James,  301,  314,  323,  334. 
Mill.  John  S.,  2,  34,  35,  129,  136,  146, 

151,  152,  154,  I ;:;,  158,  1 02.  165,  168. 

170,  172,  177,  i"S7,3b7,  354,361,362. 


Milton,  305, 
Monimsen,  96. 
Montesquieu,  28S,  296,  323. 
Morals,  2. 
Motive,  lOo. 


Nemesis,  96. 
Nihilism,  20j 
Novalis,  402. 


Occam,  56,  219,  223. 

(h'coiioinics,  26^. 

Oecumenical  Councils,  16S. 

Oedipus,  1)0, 

Ordeal.  Trial  by,  95. 

Ovid,  169. 

Owen,  Robert,  135, 

Paley,  56,  14S.  1S9,  324,  325. 

Passive  Obedience,  275. 

Patria  Potestas,  74,  267. 

Patriotism,  80. 

Perfect  Obligations,  249. 

Pike,  L.  O.,  31S. 

Plato,  I,  6,  154,  183, 184,215-217,224, 

298,  336,  34!,  348,  349,  366,  376. 
Plotinus.  341. 
Plutarch,  341. 
Pope.  102. 

Prescott.  79,  iiS,  294,323. 
Price,  Dr.,  20S. 
Priestley,  155. 

Problematic  Propositions,  195. 
Procter,  Adelaide,  300. 
Promctiieus,  58. 
Puffendorf,  56. 
Punishment,  135-137,  3Ji'-326. 

Reid,  20S. 
Renan,  36. 
Reuter,  307. 
Richardson,  95. 
Kichter,  J.  P.,  98. 
AVi,'///,  254. 
Rochefoucauld,  45. 
Romanes.  37. 
Rosclier,  296. 
Rosmini,  141. 

Scott,  300. 

Scotus,  56. 

Scljis/i,  Self-love,  44,  45. 

Seneca,  361. 

Sejit,  75.' 

Serapis,  2 78. 

Sex,  16. 

Shaftesbury,  60,  208. 

Shakspeare,  112,  302,  404. 


9^.  323- 


Is,  i6S. 


;24,  3.-'5. 

75- 
267. 


249. 


184,215-217,224, 
349.  36f>,  37fj- 


•.322 


tions,  19;. 
o. 


,  3'7-32C>. 


15- 


INDEX. 


407 


Sidc;wick,  ,55,  ,94,  347, 
^l^lon  ben  Azai,  100. 


il9. 


.SV7/,' 


'  J '  / '  j'\i 


irqiiatu 


--,  I 


IV 


cry,  iiS,  286-2SS. 


Smith,  Adam,  '6. 


S 


3- 


ociL'ty,  Xatiire  of,  257-262 
^Derates,  Si,  i :  1    -;  1- 


.■>3- 


Speiicer,  H.,  36,  1S2,  192,  360 
•^pmnxa,  7. 
Slarcke,  2C13. 
.^t.ite,  267. 


Tort, 
'J'ribf 
'rnitlifiifiics 


D/'  .>i 


)9- 


/3' 


Tullocli. 
Turijdt, 


s,  297 


^02. 


:i9. 


ritramont.ino.s,  56. 
Utilitarian,  146. 


i^tcphen,  L.,  i;6.  j-s. 


20; 


i79>  194,   19=; 


Stcpl 


plien. 


J-.  3''^\ 


319. 


Stewart.  Diigaici;  joS,"  29S 


Stoic,  210. 
Sumptuary  I.a\v> 
Mijicreroi^atory  W 


296. 
firks,  249. 


^iipp'y  and    Demand,   Law  of 


2( 


92. 


2S9- 


Tcnnyson,  154, 


Ti 
Tl 


-Crcnce.  2j 


lales,  y. 
lomsun. 


-33.  299,  393,  404. 


"icrra  del  Fuego,  71. 


\\\ 


luni,  16; 
'ilia.ire  Coi 


Volt, 


nmunitv,  7; 


mv,  361 


'  o- 


^^  ake.  C.  S.,  60 
Wall  I 


jn,  2S6,  28 


I  /3- 


Wliewcil,  2: 


9- 


Wi'lJaston,  224. 
ffc,'//,  r. 
Wordsworth,  106,  ->-?'? 

\v '■■■■     '  ■'-^' 


orshin,  -'Jii 


j"j- 


Xenophon,  260. 

/eiler,  205,  210, 
>^cno,  the  Stoic,  82 


3-  337- 
,  141,  21Q. 


404. 


